


Love Me And Mend

by cruelest_month



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Dinner Parties, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Fancy Balls, Fashion & Couture, Longing, Mages, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Build, Tevinter Culture & Customs, Tevinter Fashion, Tevinter Imperium, Tevinter Politics, apprentices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a bundle of contradictions and contrasts. Of course he belongs in her garden, moping. And at her parties. And in her home. Not in her heart though that would be ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to post today though because it's the end of Januanders. Better late than never, right? 
> 
> The title comes from a line in Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_ , but the reason it appealed to me is because of "Sigh No More" by Mumford & Sons. That song and "The Cave" could basically be the summary of this fic. Thank you, Tigercule for the on-going and awesome beta-ing. And the awesome summary I have comes from the equally awesome Amemait.
> 
> I see this possibly connecting to [Share Your Silence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2802887) in a big picture sort of way more than anything else. Mostly because I think I see this as the relationship Anders has before and during those events too. I'm debating whether that makes both fics part of a series or not.

*  
Maevaris was rather used to only hearing from Varric infrequently, but she wasn’t entirely pleased when the next letter she received from him was another one asking for aid. Safe haven for a friend. She half-hoped he meant Alistair, but she knew he did not.

The letter had not specified anything vaguely resembling a time or date so she sent the coach down to the docks whenever she could spare it. Which wasn’t very often, really. She had a lot of work, both political and social, to attend to. She had also had her apprentices to think of, and they were always so very put out when they couldn’t do as they wished exactly when they wished it.

Even Phaeton had been irritatead. “You would think these guests of yours—”

Maevaris looked up from the flower bed where they’d been working for the past half an hour, smiling as Phaetan rolled his eyes. “Varric’s family. If he wants to show up a month from now, he can show up a month from now. I’m more than ready to accommodate them.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“Right. As if anything would slip by you.”

“I only think… It’s just that your time is precious.”

“Oh, everyone’s time is wasted now and again. That’s just the way of things.”

One of her younger slaves, Renna, ran out, panting heavily as she neared them. The girl froze, blinking and ears drooping as she regarded her father. The hem of her dress was splashed with mud and her sandals were a mess. “Oh. Sorry, mistress.”

Maevaris removed her gloves and touched the child’s shoulder. “Catch your breath, dear.”

“I… It’s only your guests are coming. I hopped off the coach and got here as soon as I could to tell you.”

Maevaris frowned. “All the way from the docks? Let’s get you something to drink then before I change. Phaeton—”

“The rest can keep or perhaps you’ll permit me to do it myself. I could do it faster and however it turns out will be blamed on me by future visitors.”

She laughed. “Very well.”

“I could also see to my daughter to spare you some time.”

“Oh, nonsense. I can manage to find my own kitchens. And you’d only scold her when she’s done nothing wrong. I’d prefer there to be none of that today. Her dress will wash and those sandals are too small for her anyway. Your feet must have grown overnight. I suppose that’s how you ran so fast.” The gentle teasing earned her a small smile from the girl.

The older elf sighed, giving his daughter a disapproving look. “As you like.”

“Oh, leave it, Phaeton, honestly.”

“Some semblance of decorum should be maintained. And I find that scolding my children is a vital part to raising them.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “Then do as you must.”

Inside the manor, she got the girl water, adding ice absent-mindedly with a wave of her hand over the glass. “Here you are. Now, were I you? I should sit quietly for a bit. Then I should find somewhere else to be. Your father will be outside working for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Yes, mistress. Thank you.”

She nodded before leaving the elf, imagining the girl would sit there quietly for as long as she was able. Maevaris estimated that length of time to be roughly three minutes.

She’d inherited Phaeton from her parents, but even before that, she’d spent most of her life with him lingering somewhere near her right elbow. She’d considered freeing him roughly five times. Five springs during which he and his wife had been blessed with yet another child. He had asked her not to each time so she’d honored the request. Her other slaves were a small group that also felt a lack of interest in being freed, which didn’t make it right, but that was how the system was set up. Being freed and being given freedom were somehow mutually exclusive things. Freedom was impossible to attain, and being freed was simply meant being made poor and disposable.

As a Magister, she had to play by certain archaic and sometimes arbitrary rules. She could not afford not to have slaves if she wanted to be taken seriously. Even as she worked to change as much as she could, she had to build alliances with those who did not feel as she did. And as much as she liked the idea of new Tevinter Imperium with a more wholesome reputation... She needed to be a part of the old world to have her rightful place in the new.

As a woman, she was already at a significant disadvantage. Of course, there were plenty of female Magisters, but power in Tevinter was an still an old man’s game. No matter how the political landscape changed, there would always be old men with blood magic and dreams of dragons fueling their fervor for ancient rites and hierarchies.

The road to change required, as did so much of politics, a good deal of waiting and patience. Without blood magic, altering the minds of the elderly and infirm was not likely. No, realistically, she needed to earn their approval and wait for more of them to die off. Even then, she needed to not only be patient but to instill patience into those placed in her care for she also needed plenty of young people to be alive in to help legitimate a new vision for Tevinter. This would not happen if she pushed too much too quickly for her apprentices, her boys, were all fools who longed for a cause to champion. What happened in Kirkwall and the latest developments in Orlais and Ferelden had only increased their desire to become revolutionaries in their own right.

All the same, small progress was still progress of a sort. She’d been telling herself that a great deal lately.

The arrival of Varric’s friends was a relief. In exchange for providing safe haven for one of them, she had insurances that the others were eager to be given work to do in Tevinter. To that end, she had a list of slavers that she’d be glad to see put out of business. Provided she could not be tied to that happy event in any way, of course.

Her father had always told her that one either learned to play the game or one became a pawn in it. In her case, he added, there was no choice. She either played the game or she gave up all that she wanted because to become a pawn would be the end of everything.

He had always supported her, but he had never lied to her. He had always assured her there were battles she would have to fight all on her own. If she wanted to be herself, she had to play the game better than anyone else before or after her ever would.

She’d kept that truth close to her heart both in school and in training to become a battle mage. When she’d fought in the Provings for the first, final, and only time, she’d come out on top quite literally. And even though her father certainly would have given her his title, she only accepted his seat after making herself known as a powerful player. She could not afford to be given something she had not earned. Her abilities were enough that she became a Magister without his vast connections. To this day, she was owed many favors on her father’s behalf. To this day, she’d yet to collect on virtually any of them.

Alongside her own, she had copies upon copies of the contracts her father had made. Alliances he’d forged for years, even when he’d been ill, solely for her. He hadn’t needed them, but he’d always known she would. The original remained in the vault, and she’d always enjoyed going over them, smirking and wondering if she’d ever need use them.

The only person she’d shared them with was Thorold who had assured her he found it all extremely amusing and insanely attractive. He’d patted the papers gently, telling them to rest easy until they could be of use to their mistress. Thorold had told Maevaris he was as fond of her hoard as he was of her. And that she’d always be his greedy little dragon. And she’d been so glad to fall in love with someone who understood her…

She sighed, washing up and drying off slowly. It was good to think of him even when it hurt, but it always left her feeling so lonely. The tightness in her chest would pass, it always did, but it made looking at those papers so hard for she would have given each one of them up to have kept him instead.

Wrapping a towel around herself, Maevaris set about examining her vast wardrobe before selecting something simple. Or, at least, as simple as her clothing ever got. She considered some of the pastel and white outfits towards the back of the closet before frowning. She had never been a fan of white, and certainly there was little cause to wear it in Tevinter.

She settled instead on a black sheath dress. There were soft teal and black feathers on the shoulders and along the collar that framed her face. She wrapped black ribbons on her wrists and black leather sandals that laced up to just below her knees on her feet. In terms of makeup, she just touched up what she already had on. She also didn’t bother with much in the way of jewelry. She didn’t want to look too heavily groomed for their arrival, nor did she want to look too much like a Magister. She imagined these Ferelden types would find that vaguely off-putting.

Glancing in the mirror, she smiled. “Well, if they don’t like the look of you,” she reasoned, “they’re blind.”

*

Maevaris embraced Varric as soon as she could, hardly glanced at his companions. “You sure know how to keep a girl waiting.”

“Part of my charm,” he managed, but he seemed heavy-hearted. More so than usual, but then he’d been in Kirkwall and the friends he’d brought her…

She glanced up at them. The woman had a long red mark over the bridge of her nose. She seemed the sort who ought to be smiling but at the moment had no reason to. She was a mage who all but radiated grim determination.

The elf was eyeing her resentfully. He wore a hooded cloak over his armor, but his lyrium tattoos were glowing as he bristled. She remembered the look of him but not his name. She didn’t care for the memory.

The other man was clearly a mage. He was vaguely handsome, she supposed. He seemed unfocused, and it was difficult to try what was actually attracting his gaze. He wasn’t looking down exactly, but he was a bit hunched over in a way. As if he was trying to shrink, a difficult feat for someone so tall.

She kissed Varric’s cheek before leaving him. “Hello,” she said to the woman. “I’m Maevaris Tilani.”

“A Magister.”

Maevaris eyed the elf thoughtfully. “That is my title, yes.”

The elf scowled, turning to his companions. “And you would leave this a—This one here, Hawke? What has he ever done to merit any safe haven, let alone this much luxury?”

The woman – Hawke— sighed, not answering. Maevaris had a feeling whatever she wanted to say would be unkind.

The other mage said nothing.

Varric sighed too. “Could you not do this everywhere we go, broody?”

“I am not sure what sort of safe haven you had in mind… But ‘any port in a storm’ doesn’t always have to translate to rat-infested mess,” Maevaris coolly observed.

Hawke snorted quietly.

“Maybe we could go back to introductions,if you don’t mind? I am still very much Maevaris Tilani and you are…?”

“Marion Hawke. And this is Fenris.”

Fenris just glared.

“Right. A pleasure to meet you both, one can only imagine,” she murmured. Still, she smiled at the woman if not the disgruntled elf. She had heard about Hawke in Varric’s very infrequent letters and during her recovery from a previous and rather unfortunate misadventure.

“Anders,” the other mage said.

Maevaris blinked, glancing up at him.

Fenris smirked, but even then he managed to reduce the gesture to an unhappy one. “The insane fugitive that took it upon himself to destroy the better parts of Kirkwall.”

She raised an eyebrow. In polite Tevinter society, one would scarcely refer to a Southern Chantry as the better part of any location, but saying so was insensitive at best.

“Yes, thank you for that, Fenris,” Hawke muttered.

Anders merely shrugged. Maevaris imagined that, quite some time ago, the mage had learned that he unlikely to ever earn Fenris’ approval. Or perhaps the loathing was mutual.

“Oh, he’s probably trying to save you the trouble of carrying a banner or hiring a town crier,” Maevaris said, shrugging herself. “A sign that said all of that on it would be quite expensive, I’m sure. And, yes, we have heard of that even here in the Imperium.”

Fenris snorted. “That? Yes, and I’m sure you were glad to hear that. What did you do to celebrate, I wonder? Fireworks and a parade?”

Maevaris rolled her eyes, more amused than anything else. “Well, of course, I made myself sick from cackling once I received the news. It’s a requirement for all Magisters, but the rest has been saved up for his arrival. We’re declaring him the High King Dragon of Tevinter and long may he reign. We’re also lining up the hundred virgin sacrifices to his infernal and infamous name as we speak. Is that to your satisfaction, ser?”

Oddly enough, the elf did seem satisfied with this. He didn’t smile or anything like that. She was pretty sure the only smile he’d give her was one of grim satisfaction the moment he had a reason to rip her heart out of her chest, but he seemed to be finished, at least until he encountered any of the elves living on her estate. Maker, but it was shaping up to be a very long and tedious day.

She glanced at the others. Varric was sighing, grumbling something to himself. Anders was eying her thoughtfully. He continued to say nothing.

“Is this part of the traditional Tevinter greeting?” Hawke asked. “Trading insults until you’re invited in for tea?”

“I told you already,” Varric said, forcing a jovial tone. “Fenris can try to offend her, but that’s about all he can do. She’s immune.”

“I am merely trying to be a decent host,” Maevaris said stiffly, unwilling to force a lightness she did not feel.

What else was she to do when faced with so much unbridled hostility? She had no desire to be cruel to the elf or make more out of it than she needed to. He was a former slave who had freed himself and killed his master, he was going to feel a certain way, that much was to be expected. There was nothing she could do to change that, and she wasn’t so much of a fool that she was going to congratulate him on ridding the world of Danarius. One simply never knew who was listening in. It was bad enough that she was in the same enclosed courtyard with these people.

“And I certainly don’t see the sense in arguing—“

“With an elf?”

“With someone who isn’t looking for a debate so much as eyes to gouge out,” she said irritably. “But yes. With an elf, because you are, in fact, an elf. Just as I am a mage. It is a fact. You can love it or hate it, but pick a fight elsewhere if you must pick one at all. If you’re staying here, I would appreciate some semblance of decorum,” she added, borrowing from Phaeton’s phrasebook. “There are children here—”

“Slaves.”

“ _Children_ , and I would prefer you didn’t frighten them. Or give anyone a difficult time save for myself. If you’d prefer to simply leave, you’re welcome to do so. I have the papers you need already.”

“We ought to take the papers and go,” Hawke said with a shrug. “Safer. For all of us.”

“I quite agree,” Fenris haughtily replied. “I have no interest in spending any more time here.”

Varric sighed. “Then go back to the docks. I’ll meet you there tomorrow with the papers and we’ll leave.”

“Suits me.”

“Mae?”

She nodded stiffly, crossing her arms. “I think that would be best, yes.”

Fenris headed for the coach without another word or a glance back.

Hawke lingered, frowning. “I… hope you understand that I can’t apologize for him. It would be wrong of me.”

“You needn’t.”

Hawke nodded, awkwardly looking to the other mage. “Anders.”

“Marion.”

Neither one of them seemed to know what else to say.

“He’ll be fine,” Maevaris assured the woman before looking to the man. “You’re welcome to stay here, Anders. In fact, if you never leave, I might never notice. It’s just me and a handful of apprentices.”

Hawke frowned. “That’s good of you. I know Varric is your cousin and all, but still. It’s a lot to ask, so it’s good of you to be willing seeing as you don’t know him or…”

“Or what I’m capable of,” Anders finished for her. “Or what I might do.”

“If Varric feels you can stay here, then that’s all I need to know,” Maevaris said. “It’s usually all he tells me anyway. Make your farewells and then come inside, if you don’t mind.” With that, she left them to talk and went into her house.

*

Varric was sighing and Anders was frowning when they finally came in. They were both relatively empty-handed, but Varric at least had Bianca with him. Anders didn’t appear to have anything with him, not even a staff.

“Have you anything to bring inside?” Maevaris asked gently.

“Not a thing, I’m afraid.”

“Maker, Varric, no wonder you want him to stay here.”

“You like strays.”

“He’s not some sort of dog coming in out of the rain,” Maevaris said irritably. “He’s a man, and he is --or was-- your friend. How can you just--”

Anders cleared his throat. “Magister Tilani, you needn’t concern yourself.”

“Maevaris.”

“Maevaris then. I suppose you don’t understand,” Anders began. It ought to have sounded like an unkind accusation, but his tone made it clear that he already knew he couldn’t perceive things from her point of view either. “Considering this foyer alone, I’m sure what I’m about to say will make no sense to you at all… But I have never owned much. Had I come here under any other set of circumstances, I still would have arrived here with nothing save for the clothes on my back.”

“...I see.”

“I haven’t a bit of money either, but I imagine we’ll have to come to some sort of arrangement.”

“Yes, I imagine we will. I haven’t any idea what that ought to be. I have no interest in indenturing you to me. Wealth is not something I need more of. Not really. Power is something I could give you but not vice versa.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “You could give power to me?”

“If I had a mind to. I suppose I could bring you to parties if you’re not opposed to gossip, but that’s hardly repayment so much as getting you out of the house every now and again. Had you any thoughts on the matter, Varric?”

“A few. Should he just be himself or…?”

“I imagine that after all of this time, he would like to be himself, Varric.”

“He would,” Anders said quietly.

“And I realize this will sound… wrong, Varric, but no one will feel the way your people do about him or what he’s done. We didn’t celebrate, but we didn’t mourn either.”

“Right,” the dwarf said gruffly. “They’ll just gasp and gawk when you dance with him.”

“Would I really be of that much interest at parties?” Anders asked.

“Well, of course,” Maevaris said primly. “What with your reputation and my looks… We’d make a pretty pair. Once I get you cleaned up, obviously. I was merely being honest about your wet dog look. A look that, truth be told, really doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m more of a cat person anyway.”

She gave them a tour of the manor. Varric had seen it all before, but he hadn’t been willing to leave them alone just yet. As much as she loved her cousin, the man was truly bizarre. He was leaving in the morning and who knew when he’d visit her again, but he didn’t like the idea of her being alone with the man she was going to basically be alone with for the foreseeable future. Give or take a few of her other “strays,” as the dwarf had called them.

At the end of the tour, she brought them to the guest room Varric would use, and the dwarf seemed to decide it was okay to temporarily leave them.

She led the other mage into the room she’d decided Anders ought to have. It had been more of a storage closet for her clothing than anything else. The only other room available in this wing of the estate was her late husband’s study. Dorian had taken it over ages ago. He slept in it when he visited, and she thought that it would upset the boy greatly if she gave it to someone else even with Dorian being so overdue for a visit. As of late, and as was only be expected, Dorian had been spending nearly all of his time at Magister Gereon Alexius’ estate.

Anders stared around the room, walking the edges of it. There were bookshelves lining the right side of the room and a desk on the left side. The windows were stained glass, in the waning light, they still shone bright red, dark purple, and hunter green. The bed was a large black monstrosity that someone had gifted to her. It might have been a kind gesture if it hadn’t been for the timing of it. Even after several years, the insult still stung.

“We can add whatever you’d like. Most of the rooms have far too many books in them,” she said, inspecting the place. It was pristine save for the layer of dust that the nightstand had attracted since the room had been prepared for his arrival. She didn’t think the other mage had noticed.

“It’s near mine,” Maevaris added. “I’m at the end of the hall. Not that you need crave my company, mind… You’ll meet my apprentices soon enough so I’m sure you’ll have plenty of people to talk to, but I thought for now you might like to know where someone is. When I’m here, at least.”

Anders looked back at her. “You’re not always here?”

“Oh, if I’m not here, I’ll be easy enough to find. The Senate keeps me busy though, and I can’t afford to miss meetings.”

“And this is only one room?”

Maevaris smiled. “Would you like more than one room? You're welcome to explore, claim, or re-purpose other parts of the house.”

Anders shook his head. “I hardly know what to do with all of this.”

“Enjoy it,” she suggested. “If you’re rusty, I can teach you how.”

“Like your apprentices?”

She laughed. “No. The boys come to me because they need to cultivate the right sort of grooming and reputation. They arrive lacking in manners and magical prowess. I show them how a knife and fork works. I train them in magical attacks and defense. I help establish them in hopes that they can continue the trend and make a name for themselves.”

“How long do they train?”

“It depends. Some need more of a guiding hand than others. Some just need references. Most of them have just finished college if you can believe it. I generally find that I can’t.”

“But you teach them and they live here with you?”

“Yes. As for you, I think you’ve just been a shut-in.”

Anders considered her intently. It was impossible to tell if he was offended or not. “I have been,” he said at last.

“Why?” she prompted.

He blinked. “That would take a very long time to explain.”

“There’s time for it when you’re up to the task,” she observed. “At any rate, you don’t have to be that way now. You’re not in awful Ferelden anymore. Tevinter will do wonders for you. We’ll get you some fresh air and sunshine and a smile in no time.”

“I suppose.”

“Would you prefer something else?”

“I try not to prefer anything at all.”

“That’s not very healthy of you.”

Anders sighed. “There was a time when I wanted so much which, in awful Ferelden,” and here he smiled faintly, “translated into very little for the average person. I wanted…” He frowned, looking at her sorrowfully, brown eyes glowing blue for one split second. “It doesn’t matter. All of it, all of those things… I don’t deserve them any longer,” he murmured.

 _How do you know if you’ve never had them?_ she thought. _Good or not, deserving or not, there are plenty of people who get everything they’ve ever wanted._

Instead, she patted his arm sympathetically.

He just stared at her.

“Well, at the very least you deserve a decent meal. Come on then.”

*

Later in the evening, Maevaris found Varric sitting on a veranda, pulling out a pipe and tobacco pouch. She sat down next to him, lighting the contents of the pipe bowl with her fingers when he was done fussing with it.

“Thanks,” Varric muttered.

“You _should_ be thanking me. Maker, but it’s either feast or famine with you. I either never hear from you no matter what the circumstances, or you’re on your way over bringing all sorts of problems to my door.”

“Sorry, Mae.”

“Yes, you ought to be.”

Varric snorted.

“I don’t understand why you’re helping him. Don’t get me wrong, he seems to require it, but it doesn’t seem to me like you or the others want to help him at all.”

“We do and we don’t. He’s… It’s like you said. He is and was a friend. And now… I don’t know what he is to me, but he’s Hawke’s responsibility. Was.”

“And now he’s mine? Lovely,” Maevaris said with a sigh.

“I can figure something else out. I just need time.”

“Where else?” she asked.

Varric inhaled and exhaled smoke for a time. “Beats the hell out of me.”

“You might as well leave him here then. I don’t feel very burdened by it, truth be told. The poor man--”

“He is anything but.”

“He is literally penniless.”

“You weren’t talking about the state of his finances.”

“He’s a mess, Varric.”

“Yeah, he ought to be.”

“You can’t bring me someone in such need of repair only to tell me not to feel sorry for him.”

“I damn well can. What he did… You can’t even begin to understand. I don’t really want you to either, but he fucked us all over and up to do what he thought was right. And it wasn’t. It wasn’t even close to right.”

“I’m guessing he thought you’d kill him.”

“That Hawke would,” Varric agreed. “Not sure why she didn’t, but she sided with the mages and I think… She doesn’t want to, but she understood some of it. Everything we had to fix was either caused by blood mages or the Chantry. But understanding and accepting aren’t the same thing, not by a long shot. And she’s been dragging him along with her for a long time. Like a great big fucking boulder dangling from her neck.”

“A burden, a reminder, and a former friend.”

“Yeah.”

“Which is why you want to leave him here. Or at least you’d like for her to do so, both physically and mentally.”

“I thought I did. Thing is, I don’t like that any better. Looking around here, imagining him carving out a life here thanks to your charity... It just makes me want to shove him down a flight of stairs. Or throw myself down a balcony and get it over with.”

“Don’t you dare. The carpets on the landing and in the main hall would be very expensive to replace.”

Varric managed a ghost of a smile. “Sure. And I’m not saying I want to leave him in a cave for a thousand years with only his thoughts for company, but I’m not saying I don’t either. And here… He doesn’t deserve here. You’ll be nice to him. You like looking after people and helping them out.”

“You knew of that particular character defect long before you boarded the boat that brought him to my door.”

“I know, but I just hate leaving him here. I hate that I can’t just leave him somewhere he deserves to be left.”

“Like where? The bottom of a well? A bereskarn’s cave? A dawkspawn nest? Yes, I imagine that would be difficult.”

“You think I’m being too harsh.”

“No. That’s the hard part. I don’t think you’re being harsh because I know you. I know you, and you always take on a great deal more than a person is meant to. We suffer from the same affliction, Varric. You like looking after people and helping them out just as much as I do.”

Varric nodded grimly.

“I also think you’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t really want to.”

“Yeah. As for bringing him here, I don’t know what else to do. I really don’t, but I have to go back to Kirkwall. I’m not like Hawke. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life sleeping in the woods and hunting down slavers.”

“I know.”

“It’s just that if he hurts you, that’s on me. If you like him too much, that’ll be my fault.”

“I doubt he’ll hurt me. And I’m sure there’s something that’s worth liking about him even if it’s harder for you to find now than it was before...”

“I want to believe that, I really do. But I don’t. Anders is... He’s a runaway mage and a Grey Warden possessed by a spirit. And he’s also a healer. And he’s…” Varric trailed off. Maevaris knew what he wanted to say but it was probably difficult to discuss what had happened to those in the Kirkwall Chantry let alone the city proper. “He’s a thousand different contradictory things, Mae.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not like this we’re not.”

Maevaris sighed, unable to continue with this dark frame of mind. She’d never been one for so much gloom or tragedy. It was why she suspected she was and always would be a terrible widow. She had mourned Thorold with all of her heart, and she still mourned and missed him from time to time, but she had never been very good at being very sad.

“Well,” she decided with a mischievous glance at her cousin-in-law, “if he misbehaves overmuch, I shall inform you of it at once, and chain him up in the attic. I’ve always wanted to have someone chained up in my attic. It’s like one of your dreadful and sordid tales.”

Varric chuckled briefly. “It is a bit. Meanwhile, and in reality, I’ll try to be better about writing you. Or stopping by.”

“I’d appreciate it. It’s only that I worry... and rightly so it would seem.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I don’t write as much as I mean to,” Varric said, setting his pipe down on a marble railing. He took her hand in his. “I like the idea of someone worrying about me somewhere in the world. Even if they’re only worrying because I’m being an asshole.”

“It’s the useless romantic in you,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“Must be.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have wanted to write about Maevaris Tilani for a very, very long time. And I keep meaning to write about Anders. Then I thought about it and realized the idea of the two of them together was a fascinating one. Then she got mentioned in Dragon Age: Inquisition and never showed up. And same thing with Anders. And I didn't like that. And here we are. 
> 
> This fic will also involve far more making things up on my part, which I do like. What you can expect is a lot of domestic nonsense, political intrigue of a sort, awkward marriage proposals, political plotting/maneuvering, at least one assassination attempt, at least one mage duel, teaching of younger mages, romantic longing, dinner parties, glamorous outfits,* bizarre rumors, and fancy balls. 
> 
> I plan to update this fic at least once a week if not more often. It will depend on how much I get written over the next few days. 
> 
> * Clothing is very important to Maevaris so I also have been spending a lot of time rounding up pictures of clothes that I think would fit her aesthetic.


	2. Chapter 2

*

She woke up, as she always did, early and eager to begin. She headed for the gymnasium, meditating then working out for an hour on uneven and then parallel bars. Then she had coffee and got dressed for the day.

She went with white this time as it had been a long time and now that it was spring, a little color was called for. She found a silk one, brown branches embroidered on it and silk bits of red and pink petals sewn and scattered about the bodice and body of the gown. She added red to her lips. And a crown of bronze branches and pink dawnstone cherries to her hair.

Looking out the large bay windows, she saw her apprentices were already outside. They were endeavoring, Maker bless them, to learn something. She wished them luck of it before going to breakfast.

She blinked a bit as Isabela hefted Maevaris up into her arms and kissed her soundly.

“Good morning,” Isabela purred. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Good morning to you too, I’m sure,” Maevaris managed before smiling. “Who let you in?”

“A very put-upon elf named Septimus. He’s off scowling somewhere.”

“Poor man. I’m sure you woke him up. We usually don’t entertain until after noon. Might you set me down now?”

“Sorry.” The Rivaini set her down gently, straightening her skirt and tugging on a curl. “You make for a very pretty tree, sweet lady. Maybe I could climb you later.”

“Bela, honestly…”

“Oh hush, Anders. She doesn’t mind.”

“She doesn’t, but then she’s very hungry,” Maevaris said, going to the table. “Here to fetch Varric, darling?”

“The papers. And the dwarf. Can’t leave without them.”

“I’d be happy to send you more work in future.”

“I’ll be happy to come collect it in person now that I know where you live. So you’re taking Anders in?” Isabela looked over at the mage. “You bastard,” she said in a playful tone. “Moping about on my ship for weeks and now here you are in the very lap of luxury. You have all the luck in the world.”

“I’m blessed,” Anders said flatly. “Can’t you tell?”

Maevaris smiled at Isabela. “Well, there’s always room for one more.”

The pirate grinned. “That’s what I think too, but very few people ever agree.”

“Ugh, you people get up so early,” Varric said, trudging into the room. He had a hand up to his eyes and when Isabela came near him, he shooed her away. “Why are you here? Did they send you?”

“I sent myself. Only one who can since I’m the Captain. And as Captain, I figured I ought to see what I could salvage off this wreck. The place seems to be in one piece, but I still can’t believe you really brought Fenris here. He might have bit her ear off or worse.”

“He might have tried,” Anders said in a dark tone.

“You’d have sulked at him until he stopped, eh?”

“I’d have set him on fire.”

“As far as I can tell that fire’s gone out, friend.”

Anders sighed. “Bela.”

“Don’t Bela me. I’m quite serious. There’s not much of spark left in you, sweetheart.”

The mage narrowed his amber eyes, regarding her irritably. “Look, it is one thing for him to do or feel a certain way about me. I can accept that and, no, I won’t defend myself. But if he’d tried to pull anything with someone else… With her… I’d have had to do something. She’s done nothing to him.”

“She is fine because he didn’t actually do anything besides huff and puff,” Maevaris insisted. “Nothing is wrecked. I’m more than happy to let Anders stay here so long as Fenris does not. Now enough gloomy thoughts, all of you. Eat some food and possibly shut up, if you please.”

Anders snorted, but he did as instructed. He poured himself some coffee after eying the urn quizzically. Then he reached across the table, grabbing a croissant.

“Fenris has been through a lot is all,” Isabela said with a roll of her shoulders. “He’s like every other man Hawke attracts. Broody and depressing and sardonic. Present company included.”

“At least I’m witty,” Varric pointed out.

“You do have a very wicked tongue.”

“Poor girl,” Maevaris murmured, sitting down and making an effort to ignore Isabela’s rather suggestive observation. “And boy, of course. I’ve seen Fenris before and Danarius…”

“You can speak ill of the dead,” Isabela suggested. “They can’t hear you.”

“Well then… He won’t be missed.”

“No?”

“No, and really it does no harm to say so,” Maevaris realized. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine anyone would care, not even the man’s so-called allies and compatriots. “He was a Magister so I knew him. I went to a soiree of his once… I didn’t care for it, but I stayed for the length of the party. He didn’t really allow his guests to leave, you see. Thankfully, he found me less than desirable and that wasn’t the point. That was just the sort of thing they did. The older men, I mean.”

“Because it put you in your place,” Anders said quietly, not looking at them. “Because they could frighten you without having to so much as touch you.”

“Yes, and what could you do about it? They would insist that they didn’t intend any actual harm. They just left you to sit with suggestions and very determined guards blocking the exits. If you arrived at sinister conclusions it could scarcely be their fault.”

Varric frowned. “Mae…”

She yawned, sitting down and picking up a pomegranate. “Oh, please. That was years ago. I wasn’t very clever then, and I was hardly the first or last to experience his unique brand of hospitality. I was just very fortunate. As for the hazing, it happens less and less now. I try to make sure of it, and it’s a good motivation for me to attend as many parties as I can.” She enjoyed drinking and dancing just as much as having to put another Magister in his or her place. “So. Bela, sit down and eat something. Then tell me of your ship.”

*

Maevaris took Isabela on a tour of the grounds and they returned to find Anders and Varric arguing in a corner. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Bela was inclined to do exactly that, and it seemed foolish to blow her friend’s cover.

“You can’t, Varric. You cannot make her look after me.”

“You’re right about one thing. I can’t make Mae do anything she doesn’t want to do. And what else do you expect me to do, blondie?”

“You’re a writer. Use your imagination. Dig a pit in the sand somewhere and bury me in it up to my neck then wait for the tide to roll in. Leave me in the Deep Roads with a tunnel collapsing overhead. Or just go with a classic approach and stab me in the back and be done with it.”

“You can’t have thought we were going to sail you somewhere just to end you. Not really.”

“I never thought you’d leave me here. With her. And I don’t understand why.”

“Because you could have a life here, you dumbass. Because you can start again and make a fresh start that none of the rest of us have to hear about. Because now you’ll be far away from us. Okay? Is that honest enough for you? We don’t want you dead, but most of us can’t stand to look at you. People here won’t feel that way.”

“Yes, but, Varric, she’s your cousin. She’s a good, sweet person and you know her. How can you possibly justify leaving me here?”

“She also happens to be a battle mage. Good and sweet, she could still kill you in a heartbeat with a flick of a finger. She will if she has to,” Varric said in a fairly emotionless tone. Maevaris couldn’t see him very well, but she could picture the grim look in his eyes.

“In essence, you hope she’ll have to do your dirty work for you,” Anders said angrily. “That she’s placed in a position where she has to defend herself so hard against me — or him— that she has to do away with me altogether. Is that the plan?”

“There is no fucking plan,” Varric growled out. “There hasn’t been a plan in a very long time. Don’t you get it? Hawke is my family. Mae is my family. If I had someone else, anyone else to give you to, I wouldn’t let you near her. But I don’t have anyone else, and I can’t seem to give you anything but people I don’t want to give you at all.”

“See the saga through, Varric. Kill me. Don’t leave it to her. Don’t leave it unfinished. Just kill me.”

“You think it’s that easy. Just one bolt between the eyes and it’s over. One less mad dog roaming the hills. Just aim the trigger and squeeze right? But you’re not just a mad dog. You are… Fuck you, Anders. I can’t kill you. Most of the time I don’t even think I want to kill you and I have no idea why. Hawke can’t kill you. Bela won’t kill you. I think killing you would break Merrill’s heart. Aveline might. She also might not. And Fenris… It’s not his place. He hated you from the start. I thought that might change considering you were both a pain in the ass since day one, but it didn’t. So fuck what he’d like to see happen.”

“I’m sure he likes the thought of me being alive if only to keep telling Hawke that he told her so.”

“And I’m pretty sure that someone who meant my cousin harm wouldn’t go on and on about how much he didn’t want to. So stop with the bullshit. Just stop, okay? This is where you’re staying and this is what you’re doing. Your punishment, your sentence, your whatever-the-hell you want this to be is to go on living. If you don’t want to? Fine. If you’re so much of a fucking coward that you can’t appreciate being left in Tevinter –of all places— or how hard this was for the rest of us? You can end it any time you damn well please, asshole.”

“That is quite enough of that,” Maevaris said, stalking towards them. “I suppose I should be pleased you at least decided to hold this conversation somewhere with some level of privacy, but that’s enough. No one is killing anyone. No one is dying. No one is harming themselves. I won’t have it. I won’t let either one of you turn my home into some miserable Tevinter cliché.”

“Talk about ungrateful,” Isabela added, following Maevaris over. “Most people when presented with a giant estate, a lovely – single, I might add – woman, and nothing to do but prop one’s feet up and live off her sizable fortune would be ecstatic.”

“I’m not ungrateful,” Anders insisted. “I just don’t belong here.”

“Then where do you belong?” Isabela asked, crossing her arms. “Because none of us can figure that out either.”

“Since you're here and you’ve nowhere else to go, you may as well belong here,” Maevaris pointed out. “Which isn’t to say that I’m yours for the taking simply because of proximity or the fact that I am a widow,” she said with a meaningful look at Isabela.

“Right,” Bela muttered. “Forgot about that.”

“But there is a place for you here if you’ll let yourself have it. You’re a mage and there is always a use for a mage in Tevinter. So please stay, Anders? There must be something worth looking after, something about you that you like in spite of it all,” she said in a coaxing tone as she directed her focus back to the other mage. “There has to be because I don’t want you to go off to die in a hole somewhere, and I’ve only just met you.”

“There’s no need for all that,” Anders said, looking a bit perplexed. He was also briefly something else. Something less mournful and certainly less grim. Hopeful perhaps. But then his eyes narrowed straightaway as if he was reminding himself that his lot in life was never again to be a happy one. 

Maker’s Breath, but it was enough to make Maevaris roll her eyes. Was this self-flagellation specific to her new guest or something all Southern mages did? 

“There is clearly a need for it,” she said. “If you live here, you’ll have to get used to it.”

“Very well. I’ll stay. As you said… I have nowhere else to go.”

*

As much as it was obvious that Varric could not stay, it was difficult to see him go. He was always leaving her, it felt like, and she had no indication as to where or when she’d see him again.

“You have to let go at some point,” Varric said, one hand brushing over the small of her back.

“No, I do not.”

“I’ll write. And I’ll come back.”

“I know,” but she couldn’t help thinking that the letters would be very brief. 

Varric's letters would be, as they had always been, very infrequent and often impersonal. The bulk of his writing would continue to be romance novels about notions and ideals that Varric didn’t actually believe in anymore. She couldn’t stand to read them. She couldn’t believe anyone read them and thought the person writing them felt that love was a grand adventure.

When the carriage rolled out of the courtyard, Maevaris headed for the gardens, eager to see how it all had turned out. Phaeton had, of course, done a lovely job. She wasn’t sure who else had assisted him, but she sincerely hoped that someone had. Perhaps his children.

Anders trailed after her at an oddly respectful distance, monitoring her movements as if she was a particularly baffling butterfly. It made her feel slightly flustered from time to time, but she resolutely kept her focus on the flowers. After quite a long stretch of silence, Anders said: “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Varric. His departure, I mean,” Anders clarified. “He might have stayed if…”

Maevaris shook her head. “Nothing would have kept him here for long.”

Anders’ brows furrowed as he frowned. “How can that be?”

“Oh. You think…” Maevaris shook her head again and chuckled. “Oh, no. No, that’s not… Anders, I love my cousin. I am certain that much is obvious, and all right, the thought has crossed my mind once or twice, but no. Varric would never feel that way about me. He’d never allow it.”

“No?”

“No, and there’s reasons for it. They’re not mine to share, although I know most of them,” she admitted. “At any rate, it is enough to prevent anything from happening between us. I am not the sort of person who gives her heart to someone with no use for it.”

“Smart of you.”

“It may sound practical, but I assure it is more sentimental than anything else. I want the sort of love that enhances and enriches my life. That makes your heart lighter and the day’s burdens more bearable. I will either find that again or I will go without.”

“But you’ve had that.”

Maevaris smiled sadly. “I did. For a time.”

“What was it like?”

She glanced up at him. “Haven’t you been in love?”

“I’ve occasionally thought that I was, but it was always fleeting. What you’re talking about and what I’ve experienced… They seem completely foreign to one another. So tell me. What was it like?”

Maevaris closed her eyes briefly. “Beautiful. Perfect. Forgiving. Enduring. Magic. And I miss it.”

“If he hadn’t… That is, if you hadn’t lost him, you’d still have that love?”

“…I don’t follow.”

“No one would have stood in your way or prevented your happiness?”

“Anyone who tried would have gotten a black eye from me,” Maevaris said. “Or a sound thrashing from Thorold. My husband was quite the fighter too. They wouldn’t have succeeded, regardless, and I still love the life I had. It’s just that I also love the life I have now.”

“Oh.”

“Why ever should someone try to prevent me from… Wait.” She stopped in front of a small fountain surrounded by blue and white roses. Looking at Anders, she asked: “Is this Southern Chantry nonsense? Some sort of thing mages get told where you’re from? Love is not allowed and happiness is to avoided at all costs?”

“It is believed that strong emotions result in dangerous, desperate magic. Love is certainly not to be hoped for or pursued. This was especially true in the Circle, and then outside of it… Outside of it, I had a hard time finding anything at all, let alone love.”

“Because you were focused on keeping out of the Circle?”

“Yes, and surviving life outside of it.”

“How did you manage?”

“Stealing, hiding, and allowing myself to always be slightly starving. The hunger gave me an edge, or so I would tell myself.”

“There was nowhere to go?”

“Not if I wanted to be free. I was an apostate even after I was a Grey Warden, and there were very few people who wouldn’t have been glad to turn me in. But becoming a Grey Warden kept me out of the Circles longer than anything else might have.”

“What happens if they take you back?”

“The first time, not so very much happens,” Anders began. She had a feeling he had shared these details of his life many, many times before. “You were homesick, they’ll say. You’re young. It’s all right. The second time, a beating. It’s not all right any longer. You’re a mage now and you should know better.”

“And the third time?” she asked quietly.

“The third time, that’s when it gets more serious. They catch you, they beat you, and they find a place to keep you while you learn your place. If you won’t stay, they’ll make you stay. And the fourth time, you’re left in the dark for a year. No one talks to you, no one says anything. They might remember to feed you, but sometimes they don’t.”

“That’s what they did to you?”

“To me, yes. To others, they do far worse. If you keep running, eventually they go to more extreme measures. Generally speaking, they kill you and have you serve as an example that way. Or ship you off to a harsher Circle or templar Order so you don’t give other mages any ideas. They tend not to make harrowed mages Tranquil if it can be helped.”

Maevaris managed a nod. She’d heard about that Rite, of course. “After that fourth time, you stopped running?”

Anders’ expression was difficult to interpret. “No,” he said after awhile. “I escaped three more times, and I have never stopped running.”

Maevaris set her hands down gently on his shoulders. “Listen, Anders,” she said, waiting for him to meet her eyes. It took him a moment or two. “Here magic exists to serve man and we serve by using our magic. Magic doesn’t rule over us, but it rules through us. We are a lively, passionate, and intense people. The mages of Tevinter do not hide and, as you’ll discover, none of them deny themselves anything. You should do the same.”

He let one of his hands touch one of hers before withdrawing. “I think… You shouldn’t offer that to me.”

“I think it’s high time someone did. Now. Come along. I have a great deal to do today.”

*

It shouldn’t have been very surprising to see Dorian or to realize he’d actually grown considerably since the last time she’d seen him, but it was something of a relief. In a way, she guiltily thought, it was worth letting Varric leave if it meant Dorian would visit her.

She sighed in exasperation when he lifted her up into a hug, kissing her cheek soundly. “Magister Maevaris Tilani, you look lovelier than ever.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes, but she was pleased by the assessment. And slightly baffled as to why everyone seemed to want to pick her up. Clearly white gowns were to be avoided in the future. “Don’t you flatter me, Altus Dorian Pavus. I am quite cross with you.”

“Cross? Surely not.”

“I haven’t seen you in months.”

“If you’re cross then I’ll have to keep you trapped up here until you forgive me.”

“Then you’ll be holding me for a very long time.”

Dorian laughed. “Oh, come on now, Mae. You love me far too much to hold a grudge. You’ll forgive me. After all, I’ve been off working on my magical prowess for your sake.”

“We’ll see,” she said, smiling once Dorian finally set her down. “You’re so tall. And I like the new look. Are you back home then?”

“For a fortnight. House Alexius is on some sort of impromptu family vacation. I was,” and here he cheated, offering her sad, wide eyes, “hoping to stay with you, but I can stay with my parents if you like. It’s just that I haven’t mentioned it to them yet. I should prefer not to.”

“Don’t tell them then. I’m hardly going to forgive you if you don’t stay with me.”

“Good. I’ve already unpacked so it would have been awkward to have to leave.”

Maevaris shook her head. “You are lucky I like you.”

Dorian offered a small bow. “Maker bless you and watch over you, Mae.”

“He usually does.”

“Who’s this then?”

“This is my new house guest, Anders.”

“Yes, he does look like he’s from there.”

“No, his name is Anders.”

“That’s it? No last name or titles or anything?”

“No,” Anders admitted, crossing his arms.

Dorian considered this, blinking a bit. “ _The_ Anders?”

“Yes, the Anders.”

Dorian sized him up with a smirk. “You’re taller and yet significantly less demonic than I imagined. And you’re not dressed like a Chasind warlock at all. Far too much clothing. What a shame.”

“Yes,” Anders muttered. “I’m a constant disappointment.”

“Nonsense,” Maevaris insisted, patting his arm. “You’re good company. Let’s go inside. It’s either time for tea or it might as well be.”

That said, Maevaris had coffee instead. Tea did next to nothing for her. Dorian, indulging a whim, had gone with hot chocolate. Only Anders had accepted his tea without complaint. The scones they were given were blueberry and freshly baked.

“Dorian here,” Maevaris said proudly, “despite his lack of manners, is a very skilled mage as well. He recently finished studying at the Circle at Vyrantium and now he trains under Magister Alexius.”

“You have Circles?”

“Yes, but they serve as colleges. Very few remain in them for long.”

“It’s sort of like a tedious boarding school,” Dorian agreed. “I was there only briefly. I hardly need the instruction.”

Valarien was the first of her apprentices to join them. Lysander and Thanos arrived together. She was taking on a fourth apprentice, a young woman named Sophia, but she wasn’t due to arrive for a month or so at least.

Maevaris made brief introductions and once she was done, Anders excused himself. She imagined he wasn’t overly eager to hear what the young mages thought of him. However, if he had stayed, she imagined the conversation wouldn’t have devolved so quickly into idle gossip and strange rumors.

“He’s taller than they say,” Valarien said with a thoughtful frown. “But then… They also say he just bleeds blue, acidic magic. And that if he’s about to be caught, he can open up a portal to the Fade and disappear.”

“He seems to be taking the stairs,” Dorian observed, leaning back in his chair.

“Apparently only Andraste herself could save the South from his clutches,” Lysander said with a yawn as he grabbed another scone. “Yet here he is.”

“As if anyone could save the South,” Thanos murmured. “He seems fairly exhausted, Maevaris.”

“I suspect that he is.”

*

She left her apprentices shortly after that, tending to mail and to bills. She continued to leave Anders alone before dinner. After dinner, she tried to make sure to check in on her students.

Valarien was one of the tallest students she’d ever had, blonde hair, bright eyes, and muscles. He was, as many large fellows seemed to be, a gentle soul. His room was rather clean, but then he’d spent virtually no time in it of late. He was a restless young man, prone to training overmuch. With the sudden influx of guests, he’d been practicing quite a bit on his own or facing off against an aging Septimus who was both as bewildered as he was reluctant to participate.

“And he’s terrible,” Valarien admitted. “I quite miss you, Maevaris.”

“Where ever have I gone?”

“You know what I mean.” The boy rubbed the bridge of his freckled nose, grinning sheepishly. “How about it? Can we train again soon? Please say yes.”

Maevaris hesitated mostly to watch how worried Valarien got. He wasn’t as adept at a sad face as Dorian, but he was close at times. “Well,” she said finally. “I suppose I ought to see where you're at tomorrow. And I'd like to be kind to poor Septimus.”

“And kind to me as well.”

She laughed. “And to you. Perhaps you could ask Phaeton or Nicolae to help you practice when I’m unavailable.”

Valarien snorted. “Phaeton?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’d have to be.”

Lysander was, unfortunately, a bit of a disappointment at times. He had black hair, green eyes, and was on the scrawny side, which was fortunate for him considering how very lazy he was. He spent a great deal of his time dreaming and visiting the Fade. This was not to say that dreamers had to be lazy, but Lysander was a spoiled boy, raised by half a dozen spinster aunts, who delighted in being predictable. Needless to say, he had done very little when she’d been preoccupied with guests.

Maevaris eyed his room grimly, one hand on a hip. His desk –- an antique and family heirloom— was stained magenta, black, and green in places for flasks were turned every which way leaving rings in the wood. She blew out the candle that was slowly working it way to a stub under a beaker full of a fizzing liquid that was dissipating slowly into red bubbles. She watched them sail through the air in dismay. “You’ve kept up with your potions, I see.”

Lysander yawned, turning the page in his journal. He was smoking a Nevarran cigarette, flicking its ashes at a nearby tray. And missing, of course. “Mixed drinks, actually. I’m attempting to create a new recipe. There’s a contest at the pub.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, you know me.”

“Sadly I do. You have far too much time on your hands, Altus Lysander Aurium.”

“Lord, actually.”

“Well, Lord Actually Lysander Aurium, your dear aunt has written me several times asking when you will visit again.”

“Which one?”

“Lucy? Lucia? Lucinda? Who’s the one with the L name?”

“They all have L names and you mentioned three of them so far, but if one’s written to you... Then that’s Aunt Lucretia. The rest guilt trip me on the regular. When they can be bothered to send my allowance anyway.”

“Right. Aunt Lucretia has written to me a great deal lately. I’ve half a mind to send you back to Vol Dorma for at least three months.”

Lysander put down his journal. “Now, Maevaris…”

“If you want to be on perpetual holiday, then home is where you ought to go.”

“That Anders fellow isn’t doing much that I’ve noticed. You’re letting him stay here though. What’s he doing? Resting on his greatly exaggerated laurels?”

“Exaggerated or no, at least he’s done something with himself besides make a mess.”

“But he did, in fact, make a mess,” Lysander said, flicking ashes about. Most of them struck the back of the couch that had, once upon a happy time, been a lovely shade of lavender.

Maevaris glared, putting her other hand on her other hip. She silently seethed.

Lysander sighed, folding up the journal and tossing it towards his bed. “Look. Can’t you just punish me?”

“Would it do any good?”

“Certainly. I could make you some potions. Maybe a few hair tonics? Not that you need them but surely you’d appreciate some.”

“Not from you, I wouldn’t. I’m not sure you even remember how to make them.”

Lysander rolled his eyes.

“Instead, I want an comparison essay on the key similarities and differences between yourself and a sloth demon. Assuming you can find a difference.”

“Maker’s Sake,” the young man muttered. “Fine. How long?”

“At least five pages.”

Lysander sighed, eyes rolling heavenwards once again.

“And I want this room cleaned straightaway.”

“All right. I’ll fetch a—”

“You will fetch no one. You’ll clean this up on your own and if I hear you’ve made anyone else do it, I will be most displeased.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Punishments generally aren’t.”

She left him, closing his door calmly before cursing quietly. She headed down the hall, pausing and taking a deep breath before visiting Thanos.

He had been with her for ages now. He had bronze skin, black eyes, and tousled brown hair. When he first arrived, he had been told that Maevaris would help him branch out into other school of magic. He had mastered many spells since then, but still he lingered. Now, he read and wrote and made use of her library. Once or twice, Maevaris had gently suggested he could move on if he chose, but he’d taken it so very personally.

Some of it could be chalked up to his being Laetan and painfully shy, but she suspected he was afraid. He hadn’t had the idyllic upbringing of Valarien or the cosseted eternal childhood of Lysander. He liked being here with her, and his ambitions were for a quiet life where money was not a problem and his papers were well received by other scholars.

Although he lacked ambition and to some degree the right attitude for it, she had half a mind to give him her seat when she could no longer manage it. If not Thanos, then one of her former students. Atticus or Philomila, perhaps.

Her third apprentice kept a tidy enough room if one were to ignore the stacks of books throughout the place. His desk was clear save for an ink well, a quill, a tea cup, and a plate of crumbs that had once been cookies of some kind. Its pigeonholes were stuffed with parchment and scrolls.

“Did you see Lysander then?” he asked quietly, pulling on a sweater before he dug out the codex he wished to show her.

“Yes.”

“You won’t make him leave, will you?”

Maevaris arched a brow. "Not yet. Why?"

“He’s an ass, but sometimes he can be nice. We’re going to the opera next week.”

“Really.”

Thanos glanced up, smiling hopefully. “Yes. He met a girl, you see, and she has a sister.”

“He’s paying for your ticket, is he?”

“All of the tickets. He said that it’s important not to tell the girls that though.”

“He’s right, and before this outing... Let’s get you something else to wear, dear.”

“Can I not wear my robes?”

“Maker, no,” she said gently. “Not to the opera. We’ll find you something suitable. Blue like your sweater if you’d like.”

And Maker help Lysander if there was something even remotely unkind going on here. She felt certain though that this was not the case. Different as they were, none of the boys had had close friends before and they’d seem to be fond of one another. In fact, Phaeton assured her that, even when she was gone for weeks at a time in Minrathous, the three of them got along splendidly.

She’d never seen them quarrel, truth be told, although Valarien picked on Lysander rather mercilessly. Lysander was always seemed rather amused by it, and they’d always looked after Thanos. To set him up now seemed very out of character, but she would have to monitor the situation. She didn’t have it in her not to meddle.

“Here it is,” Thanos said at last, presenting her with a sizable stack of papers.

Maevaris eyed the papers before smiling. “And what is it?”

“My findings on the spirits, sylvan, and plants of Helianthus before and after the Battle of Pauper’s Cap.”

“She wasn’t just Daveth the Mad’s delusion?”

“No, far from it. You needn’t read it all this minute. It can keep if you've--”

Maevaris shook her head, moving to a red velveteen couch. “I'd like to read it. You’ve put a lot of effort into this.”

The tale was surprisingly easy to read and difficult to put down. She found it oddly interesting despite the academic tone of the paper. It wasn’t as long as it had initially seemed either, given that half of the papers consisted of footnotes and citations for various sources.

“Do you think it’s worth submitting once it’s edited more thoroughly? I realize it’s all but apocrypha…"

“It is well-written and engaging. You should certainly submit it. Do you need a scribe?”

“I should prefer to edit and then copy it out again myself.” Thanos sat down next to her on the couch. “Do you think… That is to say, would that be something to discuss during intermission? Lysander said I must think of topics.”

“It’s actually quite a curious event that might make for a good conversation. It rather depends on the girl. I myself would find it more interesting than the performance, but you never know. I think the right person to ask is Dorian. If ever there was a man who never ran out of things to say, it was Dorian Pavus.”

Thanos smiled. “He won’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

After that, she spent the rest of the evening with Dorian showing or at least telling her all that he’d learned since he’d been home last.

“I noticed that Thanos talks more,” Dorian said after she’d been caught up.

“He does around us, but I’m working with him. He is so very smart and he could give lectures if he could manage it.”

“He’d have to take you with him.”

“He would,” Maevaris agreed with a yawn. “He’s off to the opera next week.”

“Is he? With a friend, one hopes?”

“Some girl and her sister. Lysander’s idea.”

“Should I get a ticket and spy on them? I would personally love to see how it goes.”

“That’s a bit unkind.”

“For Lysander,” Dorian insisted. “Honestly, Mae, he’s such a slug at times. Thanos, I’d just like to see happy. He’s the gloomiest little thing.”

“He isn’t gloomy or all that little. He’s simply a serious young man, which is a considerable novelty in this house given the rest of us.”

“There is some truth in that,” Dorian allowed. “Why don’t we all go?”

“And spy on their outing?”

“No, no. To see whatever’s playing. I’m sure Anders would like to see it. He ought to get some culture in seeing as he’s had none whatsoever in Ferelden.”

“It’s a thought. So. Necromancy then?”

“Yes, I was surprised too, but I’ve really taken to it.”

“I suppose it would suit you. You’ve always enjoyed giving others work to do.”

“I am, if nothing else, supremely generous with the delegation of tasks.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not generally a big fan of too many OCs, but it felt impossible to write about Maevaris and Tevinter without them. The goal, of course, is not for them to pull focus, but to add to whatever else is going on. And I feel that I'm going to have to have a great deal of OCs to avoid Mae and Dorian to be the only people in Tevinter. I'm hoping they'll come across as well-rounded enough, and not very annoying.
> 
> There should be another update either this week or weekend. It all depends on how much I get between then and now, but I'm making a lot of progress on both my fics. And with this one, I'm aiming for around 15 page, 5-6k word chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

*

She wore black and blue the next day, a longer dress where both colors bled into one another. She wore black nug leather boots. Their heels were, as Dorian told her, a very impractical height. Her rings were obsidian and glittered in the sunlight.

Valarien eyed her eagerly during breakfast.

“You won’t make me eat any faster,” she warned him, buttering her toast as slowly as she could manage.

“No one can make you do anything,” Dorian agreed. “What is it he’d like you to do?”

“There’s training today,” her apprentice declared.

“Is there?” Dorian murmured, eying Maevaris thoughtfully.

“I…”

Maevaris offered Valarien a reassuring smile. “Yes, yes. After I’ve eaten and seen to several other more pressing matters.”

The young man groaned. “Maker, really? What else can there be to do?”

“Oh, walking the grounds and inspecting the gardens. Replying to letters and accepting invitations. Lady Erimond’s family is throwing her a small soiree and I seem to be the guest of honor.”

Valarien sighed. “And it won’t even be sparring.”

“You do realize that if you did spar, she’d clobber you,” Dorian pointed out. “Lay you out flat on your back in no time.”

“Poor choice of words there,” Thanos said quietly.

“Yes, rather,” Dorian agreed. “But it’s what will happen.”

Valarien grinned. “I’d rather hope so. I could use a bruise or two. Maybe a scar. I’d like to have some scars.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m restless,” Valarien corrected, stretching and cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been saddled with a very crotchety elf for nearly a week. I miss fighting someone who knows how to fight. Sophia might be able to but these two are… Well, one’s a shiftless bum and the other I’d rather not hurt.”

“Thank you,” Thanos said.

“No trouble.”

“It’ll be weird having a girl around,” Lysander mused, entirely unoffended by the accusation. “I’ve rather enjoyed not having to put up with one.”

“I do beg your pardon,” Maevaris said, raising one eyebrow. Her tone was fairly imperious.

“Oh, you know what I mean. You’re a woman and you know what you’re about. Girls are… Well, they’re weird.”

Dorian snorted. “How many girls have you actually met, Altus Aurium?”

“I’ve seen girls. I have sisters. And I am taking one to the opera next week.”

“There. He’s an expert,” Anders murmured.

Dorian grinned.

“I only hope this Sophia isn’t anything like Livius,” Lysander said. “Talk about weird.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “Say what you like of Lord Erimond, but he’s done very well for himself. I am certain Sophia will be a very delightful edition to the household. Thanos will enjoy having some intelligent company for a change, won’t you, dear?”

Thanos simply smiled.

“Still, I suppose if the girl is so odd and her brother so disagreeable, I’ll be going to the ball by myself. I should have liked a chaperone but I won’t force you to come along.” She smiled when most of them started arguing again. She kept out of the discussion, and moved on to eating her meal.

The boys scattered to the winds after inhaling their food. Only Anders lingered.

“You’re not obligated to stay, you know.”

“I don’t mind staying. I’ve never seen so many muscles on a mage.”

“Valarien? The boy’s a brute but he’s sweet. He’s from a very prestigious family with the purest blood one can imagine. If not, I’d honestly suspect he was half Qunari. He tends to rely on his fists rather than his magic. I was much the same at his age.”

“Were you?”

“Yes, although, as your smirk suggests, no one was afraid of me. Until after I’d pummeled them into submission, of course.”

“Sorry. I just sort of like the image of a littler you taking out a giant boy like that one. You’re awfully small although I can only imagine your temper is formidable.”

“Yes, well. I behave myself more often than not.”

“I’m sure. Why were the others sent to you?”

“Lysander’s tribe of maiden aunts paid me a visit one afternoon, and rather forced the issue. They felt, you see, that I was an ideal choice seeing as I was a widow and a respectable Magister. I hadn’t been the cause of a scandal and I went to the Chantry as often as possible. I have never been so unhappy to be approved of.”

“How many maiden aunts are we talking about?”

“Six.”

“With one nephew.” Anders shook his head. “That explains some of it.”

“It does. They would have preferred closer to home or that he remain at home. Instead I act as his governess and school marm, with neither role suiting me in the least. He’s a skilled dreamer who prefers potions and poisons to people, which would be fine if he could be motivated by more than prodding and scolding.”

“He’s not required to be more driven?”

“Required?”

“In Ferelden, mages usually have to do something of use.”

“I see. Then, no, I suppose he’s not, but some ambition would be prudent.”

“He’s lucky he was born in Tevinter.”

“Is that you offering to be a guest lecturer? Considering his life has been full of old biddies, he might appreciate a break.”

Anders shook his head. “I would scarcely consider you to be an old biddy.”

“You wouldn’t, but he does, let me assure you." Maevaris sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair. "I think my next step will be trying to prevent him from receiving an allowance.”

“Couldn’t hurt. What about your third pupil?”

“Thanos’ mother begged me, which was mortifying for both of us. That’s what made me say yes. He was scrawny then, and he’s still very quiet. He’d much rather read than do anything else, but he takes everything I say very much to heart so he exercises regularly.”

“Does he see much of his mother?”

“She was sick at the time, and died shortly thereafter. The boy was left with nothing, of course.”

Anders’ jawline tightened minutely. “I see.”

“There’s a lot that goes right here, but there are things that go wrong. Still, he’s a gifted writer despite being a very timid orator. He’ll make something of himself given the right amount of support.”

“You care about all of them. Even Lysander.”

“I wouldn’t be a very good teacher if I didn’t.”

“Mine rarely liked me, and the feeling was quite mutual. Teachers can be so judgmental and short-sighted, but you see such bright futures for these boys whether they pursue them or not.”

“That’s just how I am. Optimistic and stubborn.”

*

She strolled the gardens briefly then read over the letters she’d been sent. Nothing of significance save for an official summons. The Spring Imperial Senate sessions were due to begin at the end of the month, which meant at least a fortnight or more. Generally it lasted for a month and then there would be a month or three of nothing before the Magisterium reconvened.

“You really ought to take pity on poor Valarien,” Dorian said.

Maevaris glanced up at him.

“He’s waiting outside in the courtyard looking forlorn. Might you consider just putting him out of his misery?”

“Oh, very well.”

Before going to train, she changed into a leather teal dress made of deerstalker hide and tight leggings made of black dragon webbing. She left her rings behind, and she was relieved to find that even though virtually everyone in her household was aware of the practice session, very few people were in the gymnasium itself. Just Valarien, Anders, and Phaeton. Valarien was, of course, excited. Anders’ default expression seemed to be fairly glum, but Phaeton seemed curious for a change.

There was a ring in the left corner that was sand-filled and similar to the ones gladiators and battle mages used during Provings. There hadn’t been one in quite some time. There had to be a significant event for Tevinter to consider holding one whereas, so far as she could tell, dwarves did not need any particular reason to club one another in a ring.

“Staves or no?” she asked, going over to the chest and set of cupboards where she kept most of the equipment they used for this sort of thing. There was no sense breaking a good staff in two during practice.

“No. Can we use the knuckles?”

“We can try.” She rummaged around until she found hers. They were made of dragon bone encrusted with flecks of stormheart and infused with lyrium. “There’s spells that would be more practical, you realize.”

“But with knuckles, I don’t have to rely on ranged attacks. And I could scrap the staff idea altogether. You hardly use one.”

“Because I enjoy hitting things as well,” she admitted. “But it is important to be able to use a variety of weapons and to work spells regardless of whether one is available. Staves, like any other weapon, are meant to hone focus and add to your power. Like any other weapon, they can also become a crutch.”

“Literally too if you get injured.”

“Very true.” She tossed a staff at him. It was sylvanwood, plain and simple, with a very ordinary ram leather grip. “Let’s revisit your forms first. I want to see if Septimus has ruined them or not.”

Valarien snorted but he moved through the steps gracefully enough. “There.”

“All right. Fetch a pair of the knuckles then.”

Valarien found a battered pair made of everite and with a nugskin grip. Thorold’s. She hadn’t realized she’d left them there. She bit her lip ever so slightly, reminding herself it would hardly have troubled him. He’d be glad, where he was now, to see them put to any use, particularly a good one.

“You use them as you would a staff only it’s different. You can get in close and use your fists instead of a spell. Instead of summoning up a Rock Fist or Spirit Blade, you want Spirit Spikes. One for each knuckle.”

Valarien inhaled and exhaled sharply. He managed a Spirit Blade instead and then slowly red Spirit Spikes appeared along the edge of the knuckles he’d put on.

She moved away from her student, setting up a training dummy. Phaeton was quick to set up three more. “You want them to linger long enough for the attack then you’ll release and reform them if need be. Sustaining them for too long will deplete your mana in short order. If someone isn’t close enough, you can aim at them, let go, and use the spell that way.”

Valarien practiced the Spikes, moving in close to the dummies and jabbing them in their stuffed ribs. He also tried attacking from further away, downing a lyrium potion and then another as he alternated. More potions and more practice than that wouldn’t have been safe, and the sun was winding its way out of the sky by the time they were done.

“How are your specializations broken up?” Anders asked.

“In a very nebulous sort of way. Generally speaking, all of us use a bit of everything. Provided we’ve the aptitude for it. Why?”

“I’m not sure that would be considered Battlemage techniques where I’m from. What you do is not too dissimilar from the Hero of Ferelden.”

“Arcane Warrior spells, you mean?” Maevaris shrugged. “They’ve been integrated and I’m sure what we’re doing is different. We’re very fond of experimentations and combinations. The technique, the spell sets, and the color of the magic used will change from mage to mage. That can’t be too unfamiliar.”

“No, of course not, but experimentation and adding to spells… I’m not sure I’ve really tried too much of that.”

Maevaris smiled. “You ought to. It’s quite liberating.”

*

The next morning, Maevaris put on a wine red dress with gold embroidered leaves over the bodice; the skirts were layered and edged in gold thread. She laced up gold sandals over her feet and legs. Then she placed gold cuffs onto her thin wrists. A simple gold circlet rested gently in her curls and she had plenty of gold rings on her fingers. She put a line of red lipstick over the center of her lips, painting her nails a dark red as well.

When Anders didn’t come down to breakfast, she brought up a tray, knocking on the door of Anders’ room until he answered.

“I’m honestly fine,” he said as he opened it. He was wearing just a white tunic along with black trousers. The trousers were somewhat ratty, and the tunic had seen better days. “Just distracted.”

His room was in decent shape, she noted. Only his desk was in a bit of disarray. Papers and loosely-bound scrolls were scattered across the top of it. Candlewax and ink stains marred several spots along the sides and in the center. While she had to admit that slightly disheveled wasn’t actually a bad look for a man like Anders, it didn’t suit his desk at all.

“I had rather assumed,” she said, setting the tray down on a desk after Anders moved his papers to one side.

Maevaris forced herself not to pry into his projects. She wanted to look at what he was working on, of course, but it wouldn’t have been right to stealthily attempt to read what Anders had been writing. She could have asked, but she would have preferred being invited to view his papers than to work on gaining his permission. That would take more time, but she could wait.

“Here’s breakfast,” she added after a moment. “Did you have a decent night?”

“Yes, and a quiet one save for a few small conversations.”

“I’m not sure if they’ve shared the ridiculous rumors they’ve heard yet, but they really don’t mean anything by it. I know that doesn’t help exactly.”

“Far worse has and will be thought about me,” Anders quietly agreed, amber eyes flashing blue for a moment. “And said.”

Maevaris caught a flash of gold, and eyed the chain around Anders’ neck. She brushed her fingers over the chain, drawing out… “Where ever did you get one of these?” she asked, letting the amulet fall against his chest.

“In Kirkwall.”

She laughed. “You are a really bad man. Unless you don’t know what this is.”

Anders brushed his fingers over the dragons on his medallion. “I certainly hope I do. I was told it was an amulet for the Tevinter Chantry.”

“It is. I had one once,” Maevaris said with a smile.

“Once?”

“When I was little. My mother gave it to me when it was time to go to the Circle for instruction. She said it would keep me safe. I might have it somewhere, but it served its purpose. Quite admirably, in fact.”

“Were you nervous?”

“Oh, I doubt you want to hear about this. It’s terribly dull stuff, Anders.”

“I’m quite certain I wouldn’t mind.”

“Very well. I was terribly nervous to be sent away even if it was only to an academy. I’d never been away from home before. My parents were… They were sweet and they were older. I was their only child. One they never fully expected to have, so I was indulged quite a bit.”

“It doesn’t appear to have done you any harm.”

“Perhaps not. Anyway, an amulet like that for a child in Tevinter is one thing, but for an apostate in Kirkwall…”

“I didn’t flash it at templars if that’s what you’re asking. And I actually think it’s kept me safe.”

Maevaris smiled. “Do you really?”

He smiled back. “I do.”

“Begging your pardon, mistress.”

Maevaris glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, Phaeton?”

The elf grimaced significantly from his spot in the doorway. “You have a guest.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. I’m afraid Altus Horatio Lafrenius is here to pay his respects. Again.”

Maevaris sighed.

“This time he has,” and here Phaeton looked pained, “outdone himself.”

“What exactly has he done?”

It was Phaeton’s turn to sigh. “It’s best that you come see what he’s brought. And, if you’ll pardon my saying so, mistress…”

“I will always pardon your saying so.”

The elf smiled slightly. “It might be best to be a little less tolerant.”

“Yes, I suppose it might be at that.”

“Is there a problem?” Anders asked, eyeing them both curiously.

“Only if you consider someone proposing for the fifth time in fortnight a problem,” Phaeton said.

“If they’ve been turned down each time, then yes.”

Maevaris rubbed her temples. “The man means well.”

Phaeton inclined his head. “Then he has been positively relentless in meaning well.”

“Yes, he has, but there’s nothing for it. I’ll have to speak to him.”

“Might I accompany you?” Anders asked. “I should like to meet him.”

Maevaris blinked, glancing at Anders. “I don’t know if you ought to.”

Anders tilted his head quizzically.

“Please don’t be offended, Anders, but you look rather like a ragged scarecrow at times. I had planned to take you to a tailor. Tomorrow, in fact. We’ll get your wardrobe sorted and then you can do as you like.”

Phaeton cleared his throat. “I imagine young master Pavus might have something suitable, mistress.”

Maevaris gave Phaeton a look and the elf just shrugged, affecting an air of innocent helpfulness. As if she bought that. She’d know him her whole life and she knew full well when he was up to something. “All right. If you want to come down, borrow something from Dorian then join us. Otherwise, remain here.”

*

Maevaris lightly smacked Dorian’s bare shoulder as she passed him. Yes, it was all sorts of hilarious for the casual observer. It was nothing short of unfortunate for her. “Could you speak to Anders? Help him with a temporary wardrobe?”

“I suppose I could. Wouldn’t you prefer a chaperone?”

“Thank you, and no. I can handle this on my own.”

She took her time entering her parlor. Altus Lafrenius ,along with several large floral arrangements carried in by female slaves, were waiting for her. There were large statues in the middle of each arrangement. For the silver lilies, there was a silverite dragon. The crystal grace was accompanied by a bloodstone phoenix, and there was a blue vitrol griffin mixed in with black roses. The elves were wearing corsets and short skirts shaped like flower petals and not much else.

Maevaris spent several minutes taking it all in before sitting down on a fainting couch across from the man. He was getting a bit more serious... Or perhaps so many rejections had left him feeling slightly unhinged.

Horatio was looking at her without blinking, no doubt enjoying her action and how she herself looked. “I don’t know if I’ve seen you in red before,” he marveled.

 _Maker save me_ , she thought with a small, inward sigh. “Horatio. We have discussed this many, many times.”

“Maevaris, darling… What makes you think this has anything to do with what we’ve previously discussed?”

One generally assumed one rejection was all a man required. She felt terrible in a way that she couldn’t find a reason to say yes to the Altus in front of her. After all, it there was nothing wrong with Horatio Lafrenius. He was handsome, slender with bright blue eyes and a full head of black hair. A fleck or two of grey, but that only enhanced his appearance. He was only a year or so older than she was.

They had trained under the same mentor for a time until it became clear that Lafrenius was a healer and not a warrior at all. He had, since that time, nurtured a profound if unrequited crush. While he had always been respectful of her marriage and a kind friend afterwards, he had decided, after several years of waiting, that he could begin courting her in earnest.

That afternoon, Altus Lafrenius was dressed in black with red embroidered accents throughout his ensemble. A black obsidian dragon carved into a cuff encircled his right ear. She could see why so many women hated her for stealing away so much of his attention. The man had been a notorious flirt but a confirmed bachelor for years now. He had never so much as indicated an interest in marriage before let alone much of an interest in any sort of relationship with a woman.

Maevaris was normally quite willing to tell her would-be suitors in no uncertain terms when they ought to give it up. But she couldn’t seem to do that with Horatio. She felt terrible that he seemed so determined to win her over, but she wasn’t entirely sure he was only after her hand in marriage.

“Set them down, dears,” she said gently to the elves. “Right on the table will do nicely.” They hesitated, ears drooping slightly as they complied.

“You can keep them as well if you like.”

“I suppose,” Maevaris decided. After all, she could give them a better home and certainly better jobs.

“You accept the gifts then?”

“Should I not?”

“I’m just pleased that you’re accepting them.”

“You’re trying to wear me down,” she said flatly, looking back at the flowers. Why couldn’t he just give her gifts and be done with it? Why did he have to point out all of the attached strings that she’d been perfectly content to ignore? “Is that the plan?”

“You are entitled to your reservations even when they sting. I have every intention of proving each one ill-founded.”

“Horatio, I have said that I am only too glad for you to pay me a visit, but that is all I would like to be given. We can be friends. We ought to be friends. More than that is simply not possible, and while I appreciate the gifts… This is far too much for a friend.”

“Nonsense. I’ve known you most of my life, and I see no reason to stop giving you presents. If we are friends,” he said, joining her on the couch, “then let’s continue having a friendly chat.”

“Coffee, mistress,” Phaeton asked, glaring daggers into the Altus’ back. His tone seemed to suggest he’d be happy to dump the freshly brewed pot over the man’s head. Yet another reason not to want to marry the mage. Phaeton’s dislike for him was painfully obvious. Doubtlessly Horatio would want him replaced.

If they were married, she would have to at least consider the idea. She would have to allow for a discussion of a great many things she preferred not to discuss. This would include her seat in the Imperial Senate, and whether or not she ought to keep it or give it to her husband. As if she would even consider giving her seat up to someone who hadn’t earned it. And there were other things she would have to tell him that she had no desire to say to anyone at all.

Thorold had been different. She hadn’t exactly been keen on him the first time they met either, but he’d been so charming and so kind. He’d never wanted to discuss her giving anything up just what he could give to her. Granted, he wouldn’t have been able to take her seat from her, but he never would have tried. He left a great many things up to her, and most of what they had, they shared without quarrel. With someone who wasn’t family, he would have been tight-fisted and unfriendly. With family, friends, and his wife, he was generous, loyal and patient.

She blinked as Phaeton gently pressed a porcelain coffee mug into her hands. Then he gave one to her guest. It ought to have been the other way round, but she didn’t see a point in saying as much.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Please find something for these ladies to attend to.”

The elf bowed politely. He left them after that; silver tray placed under one arm as he began speaking to the trembling girls.

Horatio’s blue eyes narrowed briefly.

“Yes?” Maevaris asked, sipping her drink.

“He sighs an awful lot.”

“Who?”

“Your elf.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. You would sigh a great deal too if you had as many children as he does.”

“He seems a bit… judgmental. For a slave.”

“He is a fairly serious soul, that’s all. He’s not big on smiling.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“If he’s nothing to smile about then why should he need to smile?” Maevaris asked.

Horatio shook his head. “How long have you had him?”

“Ages now. Since I was little. He was the one they had looking after me most of the time.”

“A _male_ elf?”

“He was really the best choice given their options. My father, like his father before him, felt that the way we presented ourselves to the rest of Thedas was criminally outdated and doing us far more harm than good. In the Magisterium, our House has always been very vocal in pushing for stricter laws and regulations for slavers as they are the people who associate the most with those living outside of the Imperium. In turn, they would rarely do any business with us, and so we never owned a great deal of slaves. We had two large families of elves, several Qunari, and a good deal of Liberati.”

“A bit eccentric, your father.”

He’d become a Magister at a very young age with more coin at his disposal than nearly anyone else in Tevinter. He could afford to be whatever he wanted and so could she. All the same, Marcus Tilani deserved a great deal more respect than to be seen as some eccentric old fool. And she felt nothing but a fierce pride both for her House and her family.

“By the time they found a better female companion,” Maevaris said coolly, “I was too attached to consider parting from Phaeton. He’s been with me ever since. I imagine he’s slightly overprotective.”

“Yes, but to choose a male slave for a little girl… That strikes me as quite odd.”

“Perhaps,” Maevaris said, her tone verging on hostile. “But he was the best gift they ever gave me. He was as good at pushing me on the swing and tolerating my tea parties as he was at wielding his daggers.” Her parents had felt that such training was fairly critical given how unlikely a second child was, and how interested certain relatives were in Marcus’ Senate seat. “Nothing got past him and nothing got to me.”

Recognizing that it would be best to abandon the topic, the man sighed, setting his mug down. “Maevaris, that’s all well and good… But I simply do not understand why you would want to be a lonely widow—”

“I’m hardly lonely.”

“Surrounded by young men and older, inherited elves is scarcely the ideal situation for a woman such as yourself.”

“Some might say it was.”

“You are a beautiful woman in her prime. I know that Thorold’s death has left you bereft, but surely he would not begrudge you companionship. If a marriage will not suit you—”

Maevaris raised an eyebrow. “No. You needn’t even suggest as much. I will not marry you but I will not use you either.”

“I do wish you would do something with me.”

“Can’t we just talk? Can’t we just…” Couldn’t they just not ever have this conversation?

“Can _I_ just interrupt for a moment? It won’t take long.”

Maevaris glanced up at Anders.

“I really don’t think this will suit me at all.”

Dorian might have been somewhat shorter, but he had plenty of longer coats and jackets. He ended up giving Anders a sleeveless red tunic, the same color, Maevaris noted, as her dress. The collar was made up of black feathers, and around Anders’ waist went a gold silk sash. Dorian had also given him a somewhat nicer pair of black trousers, gold-plated armguards, and a gold ear cuff that was shaped like a dragon. Anders had been left with his own footwear, but his boots had been polished either by Septimus or Phaeton.

“Oh. I don’t know,” Maevaris said with a smile. “You look like you’re less likely to overheat.”

“There is that,” Anders admitted. He moved forward, considering the flowers. “These are quite nice. Those girls out there brought them in?”

Horatio was frowning. “Who is this?”

“A guest.” Maevaris explained.

Anders smirked. “Of a sort. More of a friend of a friend, really.”

Horatio rose to his feet. “I beg your pardon.”

“If you like,” Anders said calmly. “I suppose I should introduce myself. My name’s Anders, and before you gasp in shock, yes. Yes, I am the only Anders that seems to matter this side of the steppes.”

Horatio sat back down, glancing at Maevaris. “Why is he here?”

“He needed somewhere to stay.”

“You know, it’s interesting,” Anders murmured, circling past the couch. “I like these little statues.”

“They’re not for you.”

“Obviously. I didn’t catch your name, messere.”

“Altus,” Horatio corrected. “Altus Horatio Lafrenius.”

“Well, then. I realize you must know Maevaris a good deal better than I do, Altus Horatio Lafrenius, and yet… I know she’s not a pretty flower. Or a mythical beast. Or a lovely slave. Why don’t you?”

Maevaris blinked. She hadn’t thought of it that way, not exactly, but Anders was right. Horatio was not a bad person, not even a bad pick-- only he was because he didn’t understand her at all. Worst of all, Horatio didn’t think he needed to.

“They’re gifts,” Horatio pointed out, his tone slightly testy.

“Exactly,” Anders said. “If you’re wondering what is making her so very reticent, you have to look at what you’re giving her, don’t you think? Then again, I imagine what you’re thinking is that I’m the reason she’s been saying no.”

“Are you?”

Anders shook his head. “I could pretend I was, of course. It’s a flattering thought, but then again, I honestly don’t care what you think. So I’m forced to consider just how unfair such a pretense would be to her.” He glanced sharply at the other man. “She shouldn’t have to present you with someone else for you to accept defeat.”

“No, I suppose she should not have to.”

Anders nodded. “Good. Your behavior borders not only on the absurd but also on harassment. You know this, I trust.”

Horatio cleared his throat as he got back to his feet. “Perhaps.”

“I’m sorry,” Maevaris said, uncertain of what else she ought to say. She didn’t feel all that sorry at the moment. She wasn’t sure she ever really would.

“I am as well. Keep the gifts. I have no need of them.”

“Thank you. I don’t suppose…” But he was already leaving the room. She let the sentence hang there, shaking her head as the front door rattled shut. “Why is it that a man will so frequently offer to be friends with a woman when he desires anything but?”

“We think that’s what women wish to hear,” Anders said. “Hardly matters. You don’t need a friend like that, Maevaris.”

“I suppose I don’t.” She got to her feet, smoothing down her dress and smiling at Anders. “I appreciate what you said.”

Anders shrugged and then he slowly smiled back. “It was simply the truth. Thank the Maker he wasn’t engaged to you when I arrived. I don’t think I could have stood being around him for very long.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He reminded me of someone I knew.”

“A mage?”

“An archer. He was like that at times. He never understood Hawke, but always assumed he did.”

Maevaris moved past him, bare arm brushing against Anders’ as she moved to the floral arrangements. They were still, as the other mage had already pointed out, nice. “Do you want the griffin?”

“Should I want it?” Anders asked, following her over to the table.

“I believe you ought to. Don’t Grey Wardens like griffins? I thought it was required.”

“I hardly think you ought to give me one…”

“But if I did?”

“If you did, I’d much prefer the phoenix.”

“Then have it. And the griffin. I intend to do something about it, of course, but at the moment your room is so very bare.”

“I suppose it is.” Anders eyed the table thoughtfully. “Not to get greedy but…”

Maevaris laughed. “What else has caught your eye?”

Anders smiled, looking at her. “Can I have the crystal grace as well?”

“Of course.”

Anders rubbed the edge of a flower petal between two fingers. “It’s ironic, really. I never could find enough of the stuff when I needed it for my clinic, and now I have more of it than I know what to do with.”

“Your clinic?”

“Back in Kirkwall,” Anders explained. “I set one up in Darktown.”

“Sounds like a lovely place.”

“For a series of mineshafts and sewers formerly belonging to your Imperium.”

Maevaris wrinkled her nose ever so slightly. “You poor man. Did you have to live there?”

“I did in that I had to live somewhere. Really, the worst part was constantly breathing in chokedamp.”

Maevaris frowned. “So you were living in a hovel in the center of a toxic fog in a city that was overtly hostile to mages of any sort, never mind apostates… And you still took it upon yourself to help anyone you could?”

“You make it sound far nobler than it was.”

“I believe that I am merely stating facts thus far.”

Anders smiled. “The clinic was primarily for Ferelden refugees and it served another purpose. It allowed me to help other mages escape the Circle.”

“Are you good with potions then?”

“The best. Or at least I was. I haven’t been much of a healer lately.”

“Then… might I ask something of you?”

“Ask away.”

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to work with my students? I’m remarkably bad at potions, and I think Lysander might actually be good at it if he had a stricter teacher.”

“I could teach you too. If you’ve the time.”

“That might be fun. All right. Just no lectures. I’d fall asleep. I always did.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

*

Dorian was reading in the next room over, feet propped up on a coffee table as was his habit. She set the silverite dragon down between the pages of his book. “I rather liked this one,” he said cheerfully. “Why am I getting it?”

“As a thank you for giving Anders something to wear.”

“Did it work?” Dorian asked, closing his book. “Did he chase that old bastard off?”

“Dorian.”

“Maevaris. The man gave me a chill. You should have seen him staring at those elves he brought with. I don’t understand why you put up with him.”

“There is something flattering about being asked to marry someone. Even if you say no. At least, it was flattering the first few times.”

Dorian scowled. “Ridiculous. If I had thought that I could have been even remotely convincing, I’d have gone in there and snogged you in front of him.”

Maevaris made a face. “It would have been like kissing my rather charming and handsome little brother.”

“I didn’t say it would be something we’d actually enjoy. Just something that would get him to leave. So.” Dorian patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Did Anders snog you?”

Maevaris sat down next to him, smiling when Dorian kissed her hair. “Hardly.”

“Men are such fools.”

“They can be.”

“What did happen then?”

“Basically Anders explained how ill-suited he was for me. Not to mention how little he understood me. And Lafrenius eventually had no choice but to leave.”

Dorian smiled. “Very clever. You must have liked that.”

“I really did.”

“And he looked good doing it, thanks to me. I thought you’d like him matching you.”

“I do enjoy accessories. It also gave me an idea as to what to discuss with my tailor tomorrow.”

“So Anders is to match you on a regular basis? Won’t it be a little awkward?”

“I’m not suggesting that he match me at all times, but I would like to bring him to parties. If he’s not obviously with me, he’ll be assumed to have arrived with someone else. I can’t abide that.”

“Wouldn’t a sign be easier?”

“He’s not a pet. He’s just a man, and men are accessories, Dorian dear. I’m sorry you’re learning this so late in life, but men are meant to accentuate beautiful, powerful women. That’s all they’re for.”

Dorian laughed. “I’m not sure that’s such a bad way of looking at things. I should like to be a handsome accessory to a powerful person.”

“I’m sure that you would.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I think it's silly that mages only use staves when clearly they could infuse a great many weapons with lyrium. So brass -- or not so brass but fancy metal-- knuckles for Battle Mages in Tevinter just make sense to me. I also intentionally took out the space between the two words because I think being a Battle Mage in the Imperium would have to be very different than being a Battlemage in Ferelden.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos so far! I hope this is enjoyable for people reading it. I find that I really enjoy writing from Maevaris' POV although I'm still sorting out all that I want to see happen and coming up with small plots/subplots/issues/etc. I'm, of course, open to suggestions but I can't promise I'll use all of them.


	4. Chapter 4

*

She decided on a black dress with a layered skirt of teal and purple leather cut to imitate feathers. She put on onyx earrings, black boots, and black leather arm guards. She added thick kohl eyeliner and a dark lipstick before fetching Anders.

After breakfast, she was taking Anders to her tailor, located in the city center of Qarinus. The man, and his wife who acted as Maevaris’ seamstress, would have been happy to make a house call, but she wanted to leave the manor for a while. She reasoned fresh air would do Anders some good. He’d probably seen very little of Tevinter from the carriage window. What sort of host didn’t want to show off their city?

Thankfully, her apprentices had already eaten, which would make the meal a bit more uneventful. She imagined, however, that all three of the were chomping at the bit to get their trip underway.

“It occurs to me,” Maevaris said once they were seated, “that I have not explained much of the Imperium to you.”

“There might be less of a need than you think.”

“Oh?” She asked, leaning back in her chair.

“For one thing, I opted to ignore much of what Fenris had to say on the subject. Most subjects, really.”

“Well, I should think some of what he told you is true. But I imagine what he saw was the worst of it and only that.”

Anders shrugged.

“Was there another reason?”

“Well, I read bits of _Black City, Black Divine_ back in Kirkwall.”

“By Sister Petrine? Well, she was biased but she was accurate to a degree. Did any of those snippets mention social classes?”

“Not that I recall, but I’ve also read _In Pursuit of Knowledge_ by Brother Genetivi. Another somewhat biased account, but marginally more useful.”

“It would have explained the social classes to some extent.”

“To some extent,” Anders agreed. "Although…”

“Yes?”

“I was given to understand there’s a lot of sneering involved, but I’ve yet to see any.”

Maevaris laughed. “I don’t sneer as a general rule. It doesn’t do anything flattering for my face. And I try to avoid anything that might give me wrinkles that I don’t need.”

Anders smiled. “You’re too young to worry about that.”

“Possibly. In terms of accurate literature, you may want to look at _Edicts of the Black Divine_ by Brother Daniel. He was actually from Qarinus so his account will be more biased in Tevinter’s favor.”

“Or you could explain, if you’d like.”

Maevaris sighed. “I would be not able to explain it as colorfully as Southern Chantry folk, and I’m not much for lectures...”

“Perhaps a brief overview then,” Anders prompted. “I imagine the best way to learn is by experience.”

“It depends on what you do in an effort to learn,” Maevaris wryly replied, “but it hardly matters. You’re my guest and the Scourge of the South. As such, allowances will be made for you.”

“Still, it might be best if you save me from making obvious mistakes.”

He seemed unlikely to let the matter go so she relented. “All right. I’m Altus, which means I’m from a pure-blooded family descended from the founders of our Imperium. Not all of them were cultish types, but the original Altus families were the ones responsible for our reputation as crazy dragon-worshippers fanatically devoted to Old Gods.”

“And that’s no longer true?”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I can assure you that it is not true of me. Dark rituals do not suit me. Old blight-riddled dragons are far too unpleasant. I don’t practice nor will any of my students be taught blood magic. If it wasn’t for my lovely personality and witty if scathing remarks, I’d be a dreadful bore at parties.”

“Old Gods and blood magic are… certainly something I can do without.”

“Have you had much to do with them?”

“Somewhat. Part of it was being a Grey Warden, and the rest came while working with Hawke.”

“I see. Well, Altus families are high-ranking officials and most Magisters are Altus. Magisters serve in the Imperial Senate, and often our Archon is Altus.”

“And the Divine?”

“I frequent the Chantry as much as the next mage, but I rarely keep track of the Divine’s origins. The next class below mine is that of the Laetans. There are all of the other mages born into families where magic has not always been a hereditary trait. A great many of the mages who willingly indenture themselves to the Imperium become Laetans as well. Below that we have your average non-magic users, the Soporati. They make up our militaries and they own businesses and properties. They’re the merchants and the thieves’ guild. They can also serve in the Publicanum, but most of the laws and virtually all of the political power come from the Magisterium. Below that, would be the Liberati, our freed slaves.”

“So a slave can be freed?”

“Yes. They become servants or apprentices. It’s a bit limited but it’s something. And that should be everything. I should tell you that it is not only elves that are made slaves. Humans and Qunari can be slaves as well.”

Anders regarded her curiously. “What about dwarves?”

“They’re all but a class to themselves. We’ve had close ties to their empire for a very long time. So close, in fact, that they even have a massive embassy here in Qarinus—the Ambassadoria. They often advise the Archon and the Magistrium.”

“But they’re not citizens?”

“Not exactly. More like very distinguished guests that you hope won’t leave.”

“It this a result of the lyrium trade or…”

“Oh, certainly it’s the lyrium trade, but we’ve always admired the dwarves. Their ancient cities and enchantments have always impressed my people. We’ve modelled our Proving Grounds after theirs. They also provided us with the Juggernauts of Minrathous. For a significant fee, of course.”

“Juggernauts?”

“Massive stone golems. If we visit the capital, you’ll see them. Which is, I realize a rather stupid thing to say, as it would hard to miss them.”

Anders smiled. “But that’s not where we’re going today.”

“No. We’re not venturing so very far from home just yet. However, I shall be going to Minrathous soon enough.”

“If I put up with— If I visit this tailor of yours, I mean,” Anders muttered, sounding as far from delighted as a person could sound without being rude. “And if I allow you to purchase whatever clothes civilized and polite Tevinter society demands of me, I can accompany you?”

“Once you stop dressing like a savage,” she said with a teasing smile, “you’re welcome to follow me whereever you would like. I doubt very much that you’ll want to come with me to the capital for an extended period of time. I’m very focused when I’m at work. You’d be terribly bored.”

“It wouldn’t be much better if I remained here.”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“I’d have even less to do. At least following you around would be interesting.”

“I can’t see why.”

Anders shrugged, smiling thinly. “Well, a savage has to learn somehow.”

Maevaris laughed. “Oh please, Anders. You’ll do fine. You hardly need to look after me, and you could do whatever you like here. Use the training grounds. Go for ride on one of the horses. If you want, we can get you the proper equipment for potion-making. Lysander might very well use his someday, and I’d hardly give you his supplies anyway. He’s taken poor care of it, I’m sure. Or you could read. It sounds like you read a great deal.”

“In the Circle, I was allowed access to either very dry, dusty writing on magic or anything by a Chantry scholar. After the Circle, I stole books as often as I stole food. When I joined the Wardens, things got better. I read anything I could find in Surana’s library. Reading was… Well, just one more rebellious act, I suppose.”

“I see,” she said, a bit troubled. Maker, but it was depressing to think that Ferelden mages could spend the bulk of their formative years being denied so many things that had been so freely and easily given to her.

“In Kirkwall, I went back to what the Circle allows mages to study because I was working on…” He trailed off, looking a bit sheepish. It was a surprisingly good look for him, just as smiling was, but he seemed oddly uncomfortable keeping up such an expression for too long. He glanced down at his tea and chuckled. “It would sound very foolish to you.”

“Because?”

“Because it’s always been regarded as a bit of nonsense I did. Because your life is…” He gestured around them. “And mine has been… Well, there’s not much left of it.”

“I don’t believe that at all. You have plenty of time to make a new life for yourself. And it sounds like your old one needed to be abandoned quite some time ago.”

“There is that.”

“I imagine you are concerned that I will react similarly as the people who brought you here, but I won't," Maevaris said. "Your friends strike me as a rather judgmental and rag-tag group that only stayed together for so long because Hawke was willing to put up with it.”

“Sadly, I think that is also true,” Anders murmured. “Then again, any group I’ve been in has always ended up that way. I wonder if it’s just the effect I have.”

“Good luck trying to have that sort of negative and ridiculous influence over me,” Maevaris said cheerfully. “You’ll find it impossible. I’m a rather obstinate sort of person.”

“You say that now, but wait until you introduce me to a group of your friends.”

“That seems a bit unlikely. I’ve never enjoyed groups for very long,” she said gently. “If it would help, and if you insist upon following me places, I won’t bring too many other people with. The pair of us will hardly constitute a group.”

“You needn’t indulge my whims or eccentricities.”

“I think I do. How else can I expect you to put up with mine? So tell me about whatever it is that you were working on back in Kirkwall. If it does sound foolish, I’ll still do my best to seem impressed.”

Anders studied her thoughtfully. “Would you promise as much?”

“Is it something scandalous? Did you plaster very academic writings over the walls of a brothel?”

Anders laughed at that. “No, although that might have been more fun.”

“Then I promise. I swear, in fact.”

Anders hesitated.

“Come on, Anders.”

“Right,” he said, sipping his tea. “I think I’d rather not say, actually.”

Maevaris laughed. “What? After that entire preamble, you would leave me with nothing at all? How cruel of you.”

He just smiled.

“Anders… You can’t hint at something and not tell me.”

“Why can’t I?”

Maevaris huffed, sipping her own tea.

It was a blend of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves from Rivain that Lysander’s aunts had sent to her. An innocent enough gift although she dreaded what they would decide to send her next. Innocent gifts were always followed by something a bit awkward to receive. Ever since she’d become a young widow, they seemed to think she was just another spinster who had gone too long without a man’s touch. Really, the worst part was knowing that whereever or however they had come by such embarrassing trinkets, they had doubtlessly mentioned her by name.

She rolled her eyes, regarding the mage seated across from her. “I doubt whatever it is that you won’t tell me is all that foolish, but _you_ are a bit ridiculous. You know that, don’t you?”

Anders just seemed amused and even a touch grateful for her assessment, which only made his reluctance all the more confusing.

“All right. Have it your way. Drink the rest of your tea. Or eat. You might as well eat if you’re not going to tell me.”

“It was a manifesto,” he admitted. “I wanted to explain what I’d been through and what mages had endured for far too long. I wanted to show what mages needed to have. But I wanted more than that. I wanted to issue a sort of ultimatum of what mages deserved and I wanted someone to do something with it. But it was foolish. It wasn’t enough in Kirkwall. And I realized it wouldn’t be enough for me. For… what I am.”

“Strong words require bold actions.”

“Is that a Tevinter saying?”

“No, but it’s something a Tevinter is saying to you.”

Anders stared down at the table as if he was committing the grains and knots in the wood to memory.

“I’m sure it was quite difficult. Writing all of that down, looking at your life -- especially your past-- would have stirred up a great deal. Inside of you, I mean.”

Anders laughed bitterly, refusing to look at her. “You don’t even know how accurate that is.”

Maevaris considered prolonging the discussion, but really what could she say? Anders was so busy beating himself up over the things she didn’t know or understand that her interest in learning more of what he’d done was fading rapidly. He didn’t want to be dragged back to memories of Kirkwall, that much was clear. She felt cruel steering him in that direction. What did she care about the Maker-damned place anyway? It hardly seemed like a city she’d care to visit even if it was only through miserable recollections.

Her eyes focused instead on a platter of cookies without arms’ reach. She picked it up. “Shortbread?”

Anders blinked, glancing up at her. “What?” he asked, doubtlessly wondering if he’d heard her right.

“Shortbread. Eat one.”

Anders took a piece off the platter as she held it out to him.

“Take more than that,” she suggested, proffering the platter until he took several more pieces. She lowered the tray, adding, “I think your problem—”

“One of many.”

Maevaris frowned. “Don’t interrupt a woman when she’s talking, especially if what you plan on saying is merely self-deprecating drivel.”

Anders blinked and then chuckled. “Right. My apologies.”

“Good. Now as I was saying, I think your problem is that you don’t eat enough. Especially for a Grey Warden. Alistair ate a rather ridiculous amount. He almost ate the table once, I swear. After a while we all made sure he ate at regular intervals because, if he didn’t eat, all he ever did was mope about. Oh, how I hate being king. Oh, if only Surana was here. Oh, why did I ever agree to come on this trip.” Maevaris shook her head. “Pitiful, really. And he was fairly inconsolable towards the end. It was not, to put it mildly, an enjoyable expedition.”

“Warden-Commander Surana?”

“Who else? I suspect he didn’t even tell her how he felt. That or he gave her up to be king. He wouldn’t say, and Varric didn’t know. You knew her, of course.”

“For a time,” Anders agreed. “We’ve corresponded since then. Since Kirkwall, in fact, but I haven’t seen her since Amaranthine. But back to what you were saying. You actually traveled around with Alistair Theirin?”

“Yes,” Maevaris said with a small dreamy sigh. “What a good-looking fellow. Very rugged and handsome. Such a gentleman.”

Anders seemed unimpressed. “Save for almost eating the table out from under you and whining?”

“Save for that, yes.”

“I eat enough.”

“When you remember to,” Maevaris pointed out. “You can eat more.”

“I suppose I could.”

“As for your manifesto, I don’t think it was foolish of you at all. I really don’t. I’m sorry it didn’t accomplish all that you’d hoped it might, but I am certain it was worth writing.”

Anders smiled ruefully. “Thank you. Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, I don’t have a copy of it with me. I’m not sure there’s any copies left.”

“Maybe it would be best to start again with your writing alongside everything else,” Maevaris suggested.

“Maybe so,” Anders admitted. “It’s an idea at least, and I could certainly use something to do.”

“We can find you other things as well, don’t you worry.”

*

Qarinus was fairly quiet, but then it wasn’t a market day and it was early enough that many people were attending their own businesses rather than frequenting that of others.

Their first stop was, of course, the tailor’s. Junius had cleared out his shop and a decent portion of his schedule as per Maevaris’ request. They discussed the unfortunate fashion decisions of a young couple from House Remulon before she told him about the even more abysmal status of Anders’ wardrobe.

“If you could correct it, I would be ever so grateful.”

Junius smiled, eying Anders’ clothes. “There’s a great deal to correct.”

“I am still standing right here.”

“So you are. Are… Are these bandages on your arms?”

“The fabric’s fraying. And bandages can come in handy in my line of work.”

Junius laughed, clearly unable to picture what that line of work could be. “As you say,” he managed after clearing his throat. “For the time being, I have some pieces I can alter for you today.”

“Thank you,” Maevaris said.

“Oh, don’t thank me, dear. I can’t have him leaving my shop looking like this. Can you imagine? But providing him with a proper wardrobe will take time. Did you have colors in mind for him, Maevaris?”

“Blue, green, grey, black… Maybe some gold, silver, and bronze here and there? He didn’t look half bad in red, but I imagine he’ll want something a bit plainer than I tend to wear. And a few suits for parties, of course.”

“And what will you be wearing at these parties?”

“Something that his suits can complement, of course. I’d hardly come to you just for ordinary menswear.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Junius said cheerfully. “I have a reputation to maintain. You may as well go gossip with my wife while I take his measurements.”

“I would prefer that she didn’t,” Anders said firmly when the man approached him with a tape measurer. “Is this really necessary, Maevaris?”

Maevaris frowned. While he didn’t look it, Anders sounded uncomfortable and a bit cross.

“Measurements? Of course,” she said gently. “Why else would we come to a tailor?”

“Is there another way to do this? I have no desire to be touched.”

He sounded different, and Maevaris was fairly certain that things would go poorly if his wishes weren’t respected.

Junius shrugged. “He wouldn’t be the first,” he said good-naturedly. “Would it help if I assured you I’m Laetans? My daughter and my nephew are mages.”

“That’s… what? I’m quite happy for you but--”

“Oh, really… Junius, that has nothing to do with his reaction, I can assure you,” Maevaris said. “Anders is a guest from the Free Marches.” 

“I see. Well, this sort of thing happens from time to time,” and whether he referred to Anders hailing from the Free Marches or the measurements or both was anyone’s guess. “What should we do then, Magister Tilani? It doesn’t matter how I get them so long as I get them.”

“Why don’t you give us a moment?” Maevaris suggested. “Leave the tape please.”

“I’ll just get tea then.” Junius said, moving away from them. He went to the back, past a curtain and up the stairs. His family lived in the rooms above his shop.

Maevaris frowned apologetically and sighed. “Anders… It occurs to me that I’ve never asked you how much casual contact you prefer.”

“You don’t need to.”

“No?”

Anders shook his head, his jawline tensing as he gritted his teeth. “Not you.”

“How about this then,” she suggested, “I can take your measurements. Some of them anyway, and the rest you can do for yourself. I can write it all down.”

“You’ve moonlighted as a tailor?”

“I was married to a dwarf and he could not have cared less about this sort of thing. In the end he agreed that if I got the measurements, he’d wear whatever I had commissioned.” Maevaris smiled at the memory. “Later it occurred to me he was probably just trying to convince me to spend more time on our honeymoon and less on clothes.”

“Whereas I just--”

“Oh, it hardly matters why,” she said with a small, fond smile. “And don’t be ridiculous about it. You won’t be the first person who didn’t want a tailor to assist him. Just... Hm. Take off your coat, please. I’ll get some parchment.”

“Just the coat.”

“What?” she asked, resting one hand on a hip as she looked at the other mage. He was really unhappy and it occurred to her that of course he was. He had no idea what a fitting consisted of. He had probably never been to a tailor in his life much less a shop like this. And he certainly had gathered the wrong impression of what was required of him. “Forgive me,” she said quietly.

“Forgive you? You haven’t done anything.”

“Exactly, and I ought to have explained. Of course just the coat, dear. Nothing else needs to come off now. Once you have something else to wear, you can change in private.”

“Oh.” Anders was slow to comply but he did remove his coat, folding up the worn sleeves and then putting it over the back of a chair before coming closer to her.

“That said, I’m sure you’ve nothing to be ashamed about. I mean, you may dress like a ragged scarecrow but you’re not in bad condition. You could stand more fresh air and exercise, of course. But then, so could most people.”

Anders shook his head. “That isn’t the reason.”

“We don’t have to discuss—“

“The beatings. They left a mark. Many marks,” Anders explained. “I hardly care to explain them.”

“ _Kaffas_. I… Should we go? We don’t have to do this today. I can—“

“I’d rather you just did it now, Maevaris. Then I won’t need to do this again for quite some time.”

“I’m sorry. Really, Anders, I’m not looking after you particularly well. But I didn’t drag you here just to… You need clothes, is all.”

“I’d rather you didn’t feel that you had to look after me,” Anders assured her. “I’d prefer not to be a burden, and again… You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m still quite sorry,” she said holding the tape against his neck and measuring his right shoulder. Then his left.

“What’s _kaffas_?”

“Shit,” she said. She set down the tape as she wrote down the measurements.

Anders laughed. “It’s a rather nice-sounding word for it.”

“Yes, well, I shouldn’t be saying it at all.” She tucked the small pencil she’d found behind her ear and picked up the tape again. “It’s very unladylike.”

“I doubt that.”

“Hold out your right arm please. All right. Left arm. Good.” She finished measuring for sleeves. After jotting more numbers down, she said: “Put both of your arms up and I’ll measure your chest.”

“All right.”

Maevaris placed the tape snugly under Anders’ arms, practically hugging him as she wrapped the tape around him. She pulled the tape tight at first, smirking when he gasped. “Having fun?”

“You are not doing this right,” he said, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What happened to being sorry for offending my modest sensibilities?”

“Oh hush,” she said, allowing for more slack. “Don’t puff your chest out, you ridiculous man. And don’t hold your breath. And no fidgeting. Just stand like you normally do.”

“You try standing like you normally do when some pretty girl is doing this to you.”

“I’m hardly—”

“If I am forbidden from spouting self-deprecating drivel, I’m hardly allowing you the same privilege,” Anders pointed out. “Maker… How do people allow for this?”

Maevaris laughed. “I am fairly certain the tailor would have been less of a problem.”

“You might be right.”

She moved on to his waist, placing a finger against his hip as she wrapped the tape around him. She wrote down more measurements then warmed up her hands slightly with a small Inferno spell before picking the tape back up again.

To measure his neck, she needed to place two fingers along his pulse and then wrapped the tape. This time she didn’t try to pull it tight because choking someone was not really her sort of thing.

“And you’re certain you’re not secretly a tailor?”

“If you spend enough time around a man, dear, you have to learn a certain degree of maintenance,” Maevaris explained. “I do hate to offend your stubborn pride, but men are rather helpless things. Inseam’s next. You’ll have to do it.”

“Oh?”

“You're allowed to say that I’m a pretty, but exactly what sort of girl do you think I am?” she asked with a teasing smile. “I require a bit more wooing -- possibly lovely meal with a very expensive wine-- before I kneel on the floor and put a hand on your… thigh. Or thereabouts,” she said indicating where her hand would actually need to rest.

Anders glanced down and sighed. “Ah. Can I see the tape then?”

“Certainly.”

Once his inseam was taken, they just had to wait for Junius to come out of hiding, which didn’t take very long. His wife, Emaulia returned with him, bringing them a tray of tea and small cakes. The three of them discussed a new wardrobe for Anders while the other mage decided that eating was better than being involved in any conversation regarding fashion.

“Oh, and you have to make something for Thanos. He’s going on an outing. With a girl.”

“How sweet,” Emaulia said. “And where is he going?”

“The opera, although I haven’t a clue as to what they’re seeing.”

Junius glanced up from his progress on adjusting several tunics and trousers for Anders. The new trend, which Dorian already was wearing, seemed to be asymmetrical sleeves or only one sleeve. The colors tended to be something dark and black with some sort of metallic thread, typically gold or silverite. Hoods certainly never seemed to go out of style. “Do the lad a favor and don’t spy on him, Maevaris.”

“As if I would.”

“As if you have.”

“You’ve spied on him?” Anders asked, looking amused. “You’ve actually followed him around like an overprotective mother hen?”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “Not Thanos specifically, but I’ve spied on my apprentices before. And don’t you dare judge me for it. Sometimes one worries. Sometimes one finds that their…young people are attending an opera and one buys a ticket. And then one purchases very good opera glasses in order to watch… the production.”

Anders chuckled. “One needs to find better things to do with _her_ time.”

“Maybe you can stop Magister Tilani from meddling,” Emaulia said with a smile. “Give her a few incentives as it were.”

“What would you suggest?”

Maevaris cleared her throat. She wasn’t sure she actually minded Anders being given some ideas as to how to stop her from behaving foolishly, but she wasn’t sure Anders wanted them. “How long will it take to have that finished, Junius?”

The tailor regarded her cheerfully. He was smirking inwardly, no doubt. “A bit of time. An hour or two. You have more shopping to attend to?”

“Quite,” she assured, rising to her feet. “Thank you for the tea and the lovely chat. We’ll be back this afternoon. Come along, Anders. Bring your coat.”

She moved to the front of the store, but not quickly enough to avoid overhearing Junius say: “I’ll make you a list, lad. You’re off to a good start what with the listening and all, but handling that woman could be a lot of work.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the books mentioned here were featured in codexes from Dragon Age 2. Most of what Mae says about Tevinter comes from what I've read in _World of Thedas vol. 1_ and the Dragon Age wiki.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think or what you're hoping to see in later chapters. :)


	5. Chapter 5

*

There was only one herbalist worth visiting in Qarinus, less because of his cold demeanor and more because of his selection of goods.

Maevaris inhaled deeply as they moved into the greenhouse attached to the shop. The sea green glass that made up its walls had been imported from Serault, and the doors were a tiled dragon mosaic. “Do you know what sort of plants you’d like?”

“Couldn’t I grow them from clippings?”

“Couldn’t you have fun?”

He sighed heavily. “It’s only that I have expensive tastes.”

He’d said as much all afternoon long. Not just at the herbalist’s, but twice at the apothecary’s and again at an alchemist’s stand. Her favorite moment of the trip though was when he’d offered up that same feeble protest at the bookseller’s as he handed her a stack of rare and quite costly tomes. He’d colored slightly when she’d laughed at him, and altogether the entire exchange had been sort of sweet, really.

At that particular moment, though, Maevaris was starting to wish she hadn’t had the packages brought to her carriage or sent straight home. Maybe if Anders had something to carry or an unwieldy book to read, he’d have less time to be such a stick-in-the-mud about it all.

“Well, these prices are as reasonable as it gets,” she pointed out. “So please, Anders… Pick out some plants. I’ll let you know if whatever you pick out is something I can get somewhere else but as to whether or not it would be difficult to maintain in this climate…”

“There’s no need,” Anders said with a hint of a smile. “I’ll know that much at least.”

He took his time, eying the plants for the better part of a half hour. Eventually he settled for Amrita Vein, Prophet’s Laurel, and Vandal Aria. Phaeton was already growing Arbor Blessing as well as the other plants he needed.

Maevaris had left him behind, exploring flowering plants that served less of a medicinal function and more of a frivolous purpose. “What about an orchid?” she asked, holding up one that had purple petals and a teal lip.

“That’s hardly useful to me. Unless it’s Embrium.”

“Oh, but it is useful. This particular hybrid was created in honor of our current Archon, Radonis. It would be nice to have in your room.”

“That’s sweet,” Anders allowed, looking faintly amused. “I appreciate the sentiment but I’d rather have a jar of elfroot. It’ll last longer and I can keep it on a windowsill.”

Maevaris bit her lip. “How very dull.”

“You’re the one who asked me what I prefer.”

“Yes, and I’m regretting it.”

Anders laughed. “Oh, all right. If I agree, who is going to actually look after this orchid then?”

“I will. It’s pretty.”

“Then I suppose you ought to buy it for me.”

He seemed satisfied with their purchases and grateful as they moved further down the street past other shop windows. But soon he was sighing again as Maevaris indicated their final stop. “Must we?”

The owner of the weapons shop briefly glanced up as they entered. She was reading a copy of one of Varric’s latest and tawdry best-sellers.

Maevaris dismissed the woman with a wave of her hand. “We must,” she insisted. “I know what is said of my people, but we are firm believers in hospitality. You are my guest and a friend of my cousin’s.”

“You can’t honestly believe that, Maevaris.”

“I do, but never mind. You are my guest, and we’re friends,” Maevaris corrected. “Or at least well on our way to being friends. That’s what’s important, yes?”

Privately, she found this development a little vexing but only because she cared a good deal about Varric. Anders’ attitude made sense. It was a marked improvement over acting like a kicked dog when he’d arrived with Hawke and the others. Varric had not been much of a friend to Anders during his brief stay either, and a development like that hardly happened overnight.

“Yes, only… This still seems like a great deal of trouble to go to,” Anders murmured. “For me, I mean, and it never seems to end.”

“It’s no trouble that I can think of. I enjoy this sort of thing. Now,” she said, clasping her hands together and glancing around. “What type of staff do you prefer?”

Anders shrugged. “Anything would suit me.”

Maevaris glanced over her shoulder at him, offering up a look of profound displeasure. “Look, Anders, this is our last stop. So would you please refrain from doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Being so very dreary,” she said, putting a hand on one hip. “It doesn’t suit you at all, and it certainly doesn’t fit the occasion. Buying nice things is an enjoyable experience when you can afford it or if the coin isn’t yours. It is not the time to pretend that you have no opinion whatsoever.”

“I… Red Steel. If you must know.”

“Thank you.” She wandered down several aisles until she found the staves she was looking for. Not all of them were composed of lyrium-infused Red Steel, but they all had similar properties. “Your Schools?”

“Creation and Inferno. A bit of everything, really, but I suppose those would be my primaries.”

“So not necessarily something with a blade then,” she mused. “Have you ever tried other weapons?”

“No. I don’t think I’d really want to.”

“Fair enough.” She walked past some battered staves that were being kept in a barrel, and sorted through several that were in stored a very large and ornate onyx vase.

“Are there…Never mind.”

She glanced at him. “Are there what?”

Anders merely shrugged.

“Anders, try to make this fun,” she insisted. “You are getting a staff regardless, but you might as well be pleasant company and you ought to help pick it out.”

“Very well. It’s just… In Kirkwall, I had one with a dragon and I was rather fond of it.”

She smiled at that, wondering what other quirks Anders had. She wished she could understand why he felt that he couldn’t allow himself to indulge a single one of them without this sort of anxious resistance, but then she’d never been surrounded by people who wanted her to be something other than herself. She’d never had friends turn on her. She’d never had much in the way of conflict that she couldn’t eventually find a solution to.

She didn’t know what to do for Anders, not entirely, outside of encourage him to be himself while reassuring him that doing so was precisely what she wanted him to do. If he wanted a dragon, he could have a dragon. If she had to give him new and personal possessions with him protesting the entire time, she’d do it. If she had to prod him along like he was a recalcitrant child, well, men were often like that anyway.

“You’ve come to the right place, all things considered. I will be rather surprised if we can’t find you a staff like the one you had. You could come take a look, of course. Hurry the process along, as it were.”

He strode over to her looking vaguely sheepish.

She stayed close by, but kept quiet until he finally picked one. The staff itself was volcanic aurum with a snoufleur skin grip. On top, there was a red dragon head carved from pyrophite and fringed with black fennec fur.

The owner had wandered off to lunch leaving her apprentice in charge. He was a tall, spindly thing who seemed very amused to be selling staves.

He whistled at the staff and smirked at her. “Nice, very nice,” he said. “Very few couples come in here. It’s sweet of him to get this for you.”

“I’m getting the staff for him, and it is very sweet of me,” she corrected. “Now. How sweet am I being?”

“Pardon?”

“How much?” Maevaris clarified.

“Three thousand silver.”

Anders snorted, leaning against a wooden support beam a short distance away. “She’s not paying you that much. I don’t think all the staves in here add up to that amount.”

“That’s the price.”

“It can’t possibly be.”

“Two thousand silver.”

“No.”

Maevaris eyed Anders curiously. This was the first time he’d said a word about the pricing of anything she’d purchased, and yet here he was taking over the negotiations. 

The apprentice frowned. “Do you want her to buy it for you or not?”

“Not particularly, no. In fact, virtually all of my interest in it has gone away seeing as you’re the one who gets a commission for it.”

“I… One thousand and fifty then.”

“Seven hundred and fifty silver. That’s it. Not a single coin more. This staff is very nice, but it has clearly been collecting dust in that corner, and it’s hardly rare.”

“It’s unique.”

“Do you want to sell it or not?”

“Dunno,” the apprentice said with a hint of a sneer. “How badly does your lady want it?”

Anders shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?”

“No. Sneering doesn’t do anything for you. Scrunching up your nose like that makes you look like a ferret,” Anders pointed out. “And I have to ask… Are you attempting to charm my companion in some sort of ineffectual way, or are you just being stupid?”

“He is, regrettably, very stupid,” said the shopkeeper as she joined them. She smacked the boy lightly upside the head and shooed him away from the counter. “I’ll settle for six hundred if there’s no hard feelings.”

“That would be perfect,” Maevaris said.

*

“Is there much more of this left to do?” Anders asked when they back outside.

“Not in terms of shopping. Are you hungry?”

“I suppose so.”

Maevaris headed down a narrow side street until they were walking over cobblestone and past massive houses, halls, and statues, all of them made up of dark colors and stern angles. “This is the more historic portion of the city. Older buildings, older people… That sort of thing.”

“This is quite a tour,” Anders wryly observed.

“Oh please, you hardly care.”

“And if I did?”

“I’d find you a pamphlet or send you back here with Dorian. He’d talk your ear off.”

They found a small café, and Maevaris ordered hummus and vegetables as well as iced teas.

Anders poked at the hummus with a carrot, frowning a bit. “What’s this?”

“Chickpeas and olive oil. And that’s an actual olive in the middle there.”

“And this bit of red?”

“Do you mean the paprika?”

“Do I?”

Maevaris chuckled. “You do. How many spices can you readily identify?”

“Salt. Pepper. Rosemary. Is parsley considered a spice?”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “Maker’s Sake, you really are a savage.”

Anders shrugged, crunching idly on a carrot and then a piece of celery. He seemed to like the hummus well enough. Eventually, he asked: “What sense is there in cold tea?”

“Hot tea on a warm day sounds positively disgusting.”

“I suppose.”

“If it offends you, there’s an easy solution.” She leaned over, pressing fingers to the glass in order to heat up its contents.

“Don’t,” Anders insisted, lightly knocking her hand away. “What the hell are you doing?”

When she looked up, Anders was glaring at her. He looked away, eyes darting a bit as he scanned the area around them.

Maevaris frowned, noticing two templars strolling on the opposite side of the street. Their armor was black and bulky. Their breastplates had the Chantry symbol-- a blood red shield with an orange sunburst that glittered in the sunlight.

Anders’ skin, in the meantime, was crackling and glowing faintly blue. His right hand, which was still on the table, was clenched in a fist.

“Anders,” she said, putting her hand over his. Her fingers were still warm from the spell she’d been attempting, and she lightly massaged his knuckles. The touch drew his attention, and then his gaze. She was able to maintain it until the templars had moved on. “It’s fine. It’s different here.”

“Oh?” Anders asked, finally looking away. The tone of his voice was angry and imperious. “How is it any different when they’re still patrolling the streets?”

“Those templars?” Maevaris shook her head, gently prying Anders’ hand open with her fingers. He was still a bit blue around the edges, but he hadn’t pulled away or reached for his staff. That was something. “They can’t do anything to me. Or to you. They’re just soldiers.”

“They are _not_ just soldiers.”

“Not everywhere and not all of the time,” Maevaris allowed. “In Tevinter, they’re act primarily as our city guard. They provide an army for the Divine, and serve the Chantry. It’s one of the better positions available to a Laetans or Soporati, but hardly a lofty one.”

Anders closed his eyes. “How can you not know what they’re capable of?”

“I know what these templars are capable of, and I know only a little of what yours did. The rest… Well, you’d have to tell me.”

But with his unfocused frustrations fading, Anders seemed unwilling to say a thing. He sighed heavily, turning his hand over, watching her fingers move lightly over his palm.

When he approached the table, Maevaris shooed their waiter away with a request for coffee and baklava.

“At any moment, for any reason they can ruin you,” Anders said quietly. “They can do anything to you. They can nullify magic. They deny it. Contain it, beat it out of you. They can take it away for an instant or for a lifetime. They can brand you with a sunburst, rip everything that makes you a person right out of you, and no one thinks twice about it.”

“…how?” she asked, feeling a little… Well, not frightened, exactly, but anxious for this was something she didn’t entirely understand.

Warriors without magic, particularly templars, had always seemed a bit dim-witted and easy to manage. And templars were typically nice, devout people who seemed as eager as anyone else to not have to do any aspect of their job that involved curtailing the behavior of other mages. Many of them spent their entire lives acting as a village constable and trying to avoid a fuss of any kind. They were hardly necessary to daily life. You called for them on the rare occasion that you wanted a murder to be investigated or an unruly slave disciplined elsewhere.

To think that templars could be given so much authority let alone so much power was bewildering and distressing to say the least. She’d always considered the rest of Thedas to be a bit behind the times, but she’d never considered that the practices of the Orlesian Chantry to be equally as barbaric as those of the Qunari.

“I’ve never dealt with a templar who could do any of those things to me,” she added quietly.

Anders squeezed her hand. “I should hope not. It’s a combination of lyrium and training.”

“Well, they can’t do that here. They can detain a mage using forbidden magic, of course, but that rarely happens. Very little is actually frowned upon provided it has been approved by a Magister.”

“They didn’t so much as glance at us.”

“They know me, and I’m fairly certain they didn’t notice you were blue. You should… probably avoid doing that when you can, although I suppose you can’t.”

“No, but I should prefer to explain more of that elsewhere. What about the Rite of Annulment?”

“That is performed primarily on the weak or on one’s rivals. Mages are controlled by Magisters, not templars. Imperial law is made by Magisters and enforced by templars, and even then there’s very little they actually can enforce.”

“I find this hard to believe,” Anders muttered.

“Well, of course,” Maevaris said sympathetically. “It would hardly have been given much more than a paragraph or footnote in the books you were allowed to read. I can’t imagine your Chantry would have told you very much about how things actually work around here.”

“No, generally they stuck with the part where you’re all mad, power-hungry, inbred heathens who spend their lives bathing in blood and spitting on statues of Andraste. How you’re a prime example of all that is wrong with magic. That if mages rule a country, they’ll give themselves all of the power and morally bankrupt an entire generations and civilizations.”

“I imagine that only made you angry. It must have been quite clear to you that a country hardly needs mages ruling over it to be an abysmal place to live.”

Anders smiled slightly. “The sermons only made Tevinter seem that much more appealing, to be honest.”

“And here you are. And here’s dessert.” She slid her hand out of his as the waiter set down plates.

“I sincerely hope you don’t plan on feeding me every time I’m unhappy.”

She laughed. “This is merely a coincidence, I assure you.”

“It’s possible,” Anders admitted, “seeing as we’re in a café and everything. So.” He stirred sugar and cream into his coffee before tapping the edge of the plate between them with a spoon. “What’s this then?”

“Baklava.”

“It’s very…green, isn’t it?”

“You’ll like it. It’s a sweet pastry. Mostly dough, honey, and pistachios. Those are what makes it green.”

“And this in the middle?”

“Kaymek. Clotted cream. Probably druffalo milk.”

“Ah,” Anders said. He glanced up, frowning thoughtfully. “Is there any particular reason why there’s always something in the middle?”

“Presentation?”

“Are there spices?”

“Cinnamon, I should think.”

Anders nodded, cutting off a small piece of baklava. “This gets left out too, you know.”

“Beg pardon?”

“The food here is very good. I imagine that’s why it is never mentioned in the Chantry books unless something sinister was involved in its preparation.”

“Like what? A possessed pie?”

Anders laughed. “I meant something more along the lines of an assassination attempt or demonic ritual.”

“Yes, well... I just don’t see how you can eat food that isn’t seasoned properly. Salt, pepper, and some random herbs is barely scratching the surface of all the spices you might use.”

“Salt is very important,” Anders countered. “Ferelden food consists almost entirely of hearty stews and slabs of red meat. Kirkwall was much the same, only everything was watered down. Salt you used sparingly or for special occasions. Unless you had the money for it.”

“Well, you’ll have variety here. And while I would not advise pouring salt all over your plate, you don’t have to wait for a Feast Day to make use of it.”

“I’d like that,” Anders said, all but inhaling his coffee. “I hope the company remains consistent throughout these culinary trials… That is, adventures. You’re rather soothing.”

Maevaris blinked at that. She sipped her coffee to mask a faint blush. “You know, I’ve been told I’m many things… but I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before.”

“That would be anyone’s loss then.”

*

Junius had made adjustments on half a week’s worth of clothing. Or, at least, that’s what it would have amounted to had the clothes been meant for Maevaris. She did not, as a general rule, wear the same outfit twice unless she was at the Imperial Senate or some sort of government-sponsored event in which case she would wear the same robes as they were more practical and the color of her House.

For Anders, if the matter was left up to him, each set would probably last him more than a season. He seemed a bit displeased by how much he’d been given, but he’d changed without complaint.

As she considered him, he fussed with the left sleeve of his black tunic and seemed remarkably irritated to discover that there wasn’t a right one. “Why would you… No. No more of these,” he insisted.

Maevaris offered up a pout. “Oh, but, Anders... It only shows off the one shoulder. And I quite like the freckles.”

“No more of these,” Anders repeated. ”But the hood’s nice,” he added, pulling it up.

“Right you are,”Junius said with a slight smile. He shook his head at Maevaris but didn’t try to talk Anders round. “The rest of what I make for you will be more symmetrical.”

“Thank you,” Anders said with a small nod before exiting the shop. The carriage had just arrived but even if it hadn’t, Maevaris suspected he would have left. The day had been rather taxing for him.

“When should Thanos stop by?” Maevaris asked.

“Anytime you like.”

“Tomorrow then. I’ll bring him or Lysander will. And, I know I can’t rush this sort of thing but…”

“Oh, give me a week or so and your guest will be on the right track. He probably won’t mind wearing the same thing over and over again, but I know how you are. It’s been quite good for business.”

Maevaris smiled. “Excellent. I also have a ball in Vyrantium in the near future. Anders will be accompanying me so... See what you can do, I suppose.”

“Right. Any thoughts as to colors?”

“I’m not sure although I’d just as soon as avoid red and white or any combination of the two.”

Junius raised an eyebrow.

“I will be visiting House Erimond.”

“Ah, I see. Hunter green? Dark purple? Your own House colors, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t say no to purple if you think the color could be made to suit Anders.”

“I see what I have in terms of cloth. Perhaps we can discuss the colors once your guest’s wardrobe is ready.”

“Of course. I’ll need most of it shipped to the townhouse in Minrathous.”

“Is it that time again?”

“Seems like it always is.”

She exited the shop, nodding politely to an Altus family that passed by before crossing the street.

“All right, Mistress?” Nicolae asked. He hopped down from his seat at the front of the carriage. He was tall for an elf with chestnut hair, green eyes, and bronze skin. He’d been a gift from another suitor she hadn’t much cared for, and one she’d rejected shortly before Thorold had begun to court her in earnest.

Maevaris peered into the carriage, rather amused to find that Anders was sleeping in the front quarter of the couch. His legs were stretched out and his arms were folded over his chest. He’d taken the bandages from his coat and wrapped them around his bare forearm. 

“All right,” she agreed, letting Nicolae help her up the step and into the coach. “Let’s go home.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the details here are entirely made up, particularly the staff and the spices. I spend a lot of time sorting through crafting materials both for colors and attributes, which will come up more in terms of Mae's outfits than anything else. The food mentioned is real even if the ingredients were made a bit more Thedas-related.
> 
> I imagine Tevinter templar armor is not all that different only darker and more angular. And [the symbol](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Imperial_Chantry) would be different. Thank you, TCRegan and for reminding me what it looked like. 
> 
> And I was going to change some of the herb names only to realize it really isn't necessary, which is sad because I sort of like Serpent's Laurel and Archon's Blessing better but oh well. 
> 
> And thanks, as per usual, to Tigercule for the beta!


	6. Chapter 6

*

Maevaris had resolved to remain home the following day, partially to attend to Anders’ plants which were meant to arrive in the early afternoon and also because she had been longing for a relaxing bath.

After waking, she headed into the small chamber attached to her bedroom. It had been Thorold’s idea that they end up with a bathing chamber consisting of a large marble tub and a colorful mosaic of Urthemiel, gold eyes flashing in the sunlight as his onyx claws grasped at flowers. The dragon’s body was composed of chips of dawnstone, bloodstone, and nevarrite. Painted on the ceiling was the golden outline of Bellitanus, the constellation that was his counterpart.

Urthemiel’s artistic depiction was a result of her husband finding it rather amusing that this was the eldritch dragon on which her ancestors had been so fixated. The Old God of Beauty was on her House’s seal as well, holding a large lily. He meant very little to Maevaris personally, although she’d enjoyed the occasional dark and sordid tale about them as much as the next mage. 

She’d occasionally toyed around with the idea of having the beast removed, particularly when tiles chipped or required replacing. When rumors spread that Urthemiel had become the latest archdemon, the debate had begun anew as, despite its rather remote location, the mosaic had seemed in poor taste. Yet even after the confirmation of Urthemiel’s blighted state and then finally his demise, she didn’t have the heart to remove him for the dragon reminded her of her late husband. And, during the rare moments she felt sad or a bit lonely, she found the dragon almost comforting.

When it came time to bathe, dress, or undress, Maevaris tended to avoid her slaves, and they knew not to disturb her until she’d left her rooms. It might not have seemed practical, but in many ways it was. She preferred, first and foremost, to look after herself. She also didn’t need to add concerns of rumors or gossip. 

So she prepared the bath herself, summoning up a large block of ice. She lowered it gently into the tub before melting it down with another spell, then heating up the water that remained. Once its contents were warm and slightly steaming, Maevaris sprinkled in a liberal amount of bath salts scented with crystal grace. Then she added the pale blue glyphs over her bedroom door and the one leading into the tub.

The bath went off without a hitch until banging on her door forced her out of the tub.

She cursed something unfavorable in Tevene, pulling on a dark and thick robe and stalking barefoot across her bedroom floor. She reluctantly unlocked and opened the door a crack.

Anders. Well, that was different then. She couldn’t yell at him about her privacy when she doubted he was deliberately disrespecting it. “Yes?” she asked.

“Sorry I… There were…” Anders gestured towards her door. “There are wards, I mean. And they have your signature but…”

“But?”

“But generally…” Anders sighed. “Right, this isn’t… I’m sorry. It’s only I thought… Well, it hardly matters.”

Maevaris couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Maker’s Sake, you weren’t worried about me, were you?”

Anders frowned. “I might have been.”

“I put them up when I don’t want my students to pry into my private affairs. In this case, I was merely taking a bath.”

“Oh. Right. That makes a bit more sense, actually.”

“Was there something else you needed?” Maevaris prompted, amused by his sudden sheepishness.

“Just visual confirmation that you were… And you are. I should… go.”

“You should, yes,” Maevaris agreed. “I’ll be out shortly. You’re welcome to eat breakfast without me or to do whatever you please.”

Anders shrugged. “I can wait.”

“All right. But you still have to loiter elsewhere.”

“Of course. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. Your checking up on me is rather sweet if a tad unnecessary.” She closed the door gently so as not to make it seem as if she was closing it in his face.

She sighed, leaning against the door for a moment before replacing the wards and taking care of the tub. How gloomy it must have been to always expect the absolute worst. The poor man was probably dying of anxious anticipation and boredom since nothing remotely unsavory, tawdry, or mysterious was going on in any corner of her manor house.

Well, they’d be in Minrathous soon enough. If he wanted to worry there, he was welcome to.

*

Gardening required a degree of practicality in terms of her wardrobe so she settled for a simple bronze dress and matching sandals. On her right hand, she wore a three finger ring of carved moonstone. On her left hand, she wore 4 bronze rings with bands of graduated sizes.

Dorian was sipping coffee, his plate in front of him empty. Anders was sitting across from considering a scone rather thoughtfully.

“So you do still live here,” Dorian coolly observed. “I was beginning to think I’d imagined it.”

Oh dear. Maevaris did her best not to laugh at that, smiling brightly at him instead. “Good morning, Dorian. Are you feeling neglected?”

“A bit, yes. My holiday only lasts for so much longer.”

“Do you want to help me garden then?”

“You save the manual labor for me and the shopping for him?”

“I wouldn’t object to gardening,” Anders mumbled. He’d stopped considering the scone and had begun to eat it slowly.

“Thanos is going to Junius’ soon along with Lysander. You’re welcome to accompany them.”

“I suppose I’ll have to if they’re spending your coin, but I don’t want to accompany them.”

“Honestly, I’m in such high demand lately,” Maevaris said, sitting down next to Anders with a sigh. It was this sort of clinginess that led to glyphs on bedroom doors, and precisely the reason why she was looking forward to Sophia’s arrival. Hopefully the girl would be more independent than this current lot. “Tomorrow’s Market Day. We’ll go shopping then.”

“Is that a promise?”

Maevaris grinned, leaning across the table to pat the other mage’s hand. “Oh, Dorian, of course I promise. It’ll be just the pair of us like old times, all right? To make up for my constant neglect.”

It was a bit surprising when Dorian glanced at Anders. As wonderful and marvelous a companion as the boy was to her, he had never been particularly thoughtful to those who weren’t family or close friends. “That won’t trouble you, will it? My taking her off your hands as it were?”

Anders hesitated then shrugged. “It won’t trouble me as much as it will leave me with very little to do. But I imagine I’ll find something. There’s always the library.”

“There is,” Dorian said, rising to his feet. “And the good news is we won’t be sharing Mae for long. I’m usually elsewhere.”

“He is,” Maevaris agreed with a hint of frown. “I hardly see him, to be honest.”

“That’s because leaving you is so very difficult that sometimes I can't bring myself to return,” Dorian cheerfully pointed out. He strode over to her side of the table where he kissed her cheek before heading for the door. “I’ll go collect your students and get the field trip underway.”

“Yes, only, remind Lysander he has an allowance, if you please. And make sure Thanos doesn’t go for something cheap because he’s using my money.”

Dorian snorted but gave her a smart salute as he left.

“You don’t feel obligated to be around me, do you?” Maevaris asked as she began to help herself to what remained of breakfast. Her students had left a bit of everything, but not much of any particular food item.

“Hardly, but as I’ve pointed out you’re soothing and…” Anders sighed. “This is a bit stupid to say.”

“Go on.”

“I've rather gotten used to having people around. Obviously when it comes to Hawke and the others, I preferred it when we got along back in Kirkwall. Especially compared to how it was up to and around the time they left me here, but it’s…difficult being alone.”

Maevaris nodded. “I understand. Sometimes being alone can be rather nice though.”

“You can tell me to find other things to do if and when you desire it.”

“Oh, if you’re keen to be around me, I won’t deny you the pleasure of my company. I can’t stand being pouted at for very long.”

“It’s interesting in regards to Dorian,” Anders commented. “He’s jealous and unhappy because he wants to be around you.”

“Well, isn’t that how it works?”

“But he doesn’t want anything else. There’s nothing romantic about it.”

Maevaris made a face. “I should think not. I’ve known him since he was roughly the size of a plump rabbit.”

“So there’s…”

“There’s?”

“I realize it’s hardly my business but… Nothing’s going on between—”

“Maker’s Sake, Anders, of course there’s nothing going on, and if you continue to ask about it, I’ll…” Maevais sighed looking about the table and finding nothing remotely useful in terms of expressing her displeasure. “Well, I’ll throw this piece of toast at you.”

Anders laughed. “Anything but that.”

Maevaris offered up the mildest glare she could manage. “I am seriously disgusted. Ugh, the very thought of it makes me ill.”

“Again, my sincere apologies. I assumed the frigid glare he’s been giving me was for reasons slightly more significant than simply wanting all of your attention for himself.”

Maevaris smiled. “You’ve been on the receiving end of such glares before?”

“When I was younger? Nearly all of the time. In Kirkwall, it was only Fenris who gave me that look. At first, anyway.”

“Did you have an interest in Hawke?”

“Once when I met her, again in the Deep Roads, and then one more time. And that was after she and Fenris had parted ways, but that proved to be merely temporary. I did not behave in a very flattering way. Later on I realized how ridiculously selfish I'd been. I hardly cared what Fenris might have thought if I'd manage to win Hawke over, but it wouldn’t have been right to do that to Hawke.”

“Kirkwall had other women, surely.”

“I felt other women-- or even other men-- would have been too distracting from the work I needed to do, and again... It would have been selfish.”

“Is that the influence of the spirit you have? Because he sounds like a frightful bore to me,” Maevaris said with a frown. “You have to be selfish every now and again. How else can you have a self?"

Anders blinked. “I’m not sure I like that you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make accurate observations that sting,” he said with a sigh. “As to your first point… It’s not exactly that there’s two of us in here. It’s me for the most part only altered. Justice… He’s tangled up in me, but he isn’t the one in control. All that I am is enhanced and augmented by his powers, and… Well, he literally brings out the worst in me.”

“Then it follows he would bring out the best as well.”

“I wish that were true.”

“Well, perhaps it’s a matter of learning more about your condition now. You seem to do well enough, but if you're quietly struggling or suffering... You’ll want to get more control over it.”

“That would be nice,” Anders said, sounding both miserable and wistful.

“More than nice,” she insisted. “It’s a real possibility and…” Here she hesitated, sighing.

“And?”

“It would be helpful. Not just for you, but for me as well.”

Anders blinked, brow furrowing slightly. “You? If I’m causing—”

“No, of course you’re not. I can shield you from a great deal by virtue of my position in the Imperial Senate, and what afflicts you won’t exactly fall into the category of forbidden magic. Not yet anyway, but it could be used against me as much as against you.”

“Even if I’m just visiting?”

“Especially if,” she said. When Anders gave her a confused look, she added: “Most Magisters would have indentured you to them by now.”

“But not you?”

“I have no desire to do so.”

“If it would make things easier…”

Maevaris shook her head.

“I wouldn’t think less of you.”

“Oh good, one of us wouldn’t.”

Anders shook his head. “How bad could it possibly be to become indentured to you? If I’m staying here—”

“Staying is one thing and it allows you to leave whenever you would like. If I were to indenture you to me it would have to be for ten years, Anders. It would be wrong.”

To her surprise, Anders laughed.

She folded her arms, glaring at him. “In light of my stance, I was expecting… I don’t know. A ‘thanks, Maevaris.’ Or ‘that means a lot to me, Maevaris.’ Or ‘it’s really kind of you, Maevaris.’”

“It’s not what you said,” he insisted with a smirk. “It’s… Honestly, you make it very hard to brood.”

“I can’t say that I’m sorry.”

“Maevaris, I appreciate your concern. It is very charming and I’m not sure I could explain how flattering it is that you’re so genuinely interested in helping me out. If I don’t know what to do with all of your kindness, it has nothing to do with a failure to appreciate it. You must understand… What you’ve offered thus far isn’t something I’ve encountered in roughly a year or more. Even so and all the same, no one can keep me somewhere that I no longer desire to be. I’ve run away from larger commitments.”

“Larger than me,” she stated, displeased for a reason she couldn’t readily put her finger on. No, that was a lie. It was a reason she couldn’t readily bring herself to admit. She’d always been quite good at understanding her moods and what they meant.

“Worse than you,” Anders said, correcting himself. “Because they were infinitely worse than anything someone like you would do to me.”

“That’s something.”

“Is it any better if I say not one of them were as pleasing to the eye as you are?”

She smiled in approval. “Yes, that’s much better.”

Anders shook his head. “All right, but if you had to… Maevaris, indentured or not, being with you… It isn’t a punishment at all, and I deserve--”

“Don’t,” she insisted, a tad harshly. “Don’t you dare ruin so many lovely compliments with your tiresome need for self-flagellation. People don’t get what they deserve, Anders. They get what they get, and there’s no fairness to it whatsoever. Now, let’s get back to what we were discussing in terms of you getting a better grip on… that is, a tighter rein on your indomitable spirit or what-have-you.”

Anders smirked. “If you like.”

“Research couldn’t hurt, considering you’re finally in a location where magical curiosity is fostered and encouraged.”

“Up to a point, I thought.”

“Well, there has to be some sort of system in place,” Maevaris said with a shrug. “There’s plenty to work with around here, and then there is an ample amount to be found in the Imperial Library in Minrathous. That part we’d have to do together since the materials there are a strict need-to-know basis.”

“It might be better if you’re along anyway. You’re…more optimistic than I am about how this all might or could sort itself out.”

Maevaris chuckled. “And then there’s the fact that I can read Tevene, which one might argue, is a bit more significant to conducting a proper investigation of Tevinter manuscripts and scrolls.”

Anders smiled at that. “One could,” he admitted, “but one would be wrong.”

*

Before gardening and after the plants had arrived, Maevaris headed for the shed with Anders in tow.

“You’ll need a job,” Maevaris decided as she put on a black apron and gloves made of nugskin. “Besides telling me where you’d like for these herbs to go, of course.”

“I could do this if you’d like.”

“Nonsense. I could use the sunshine and fresh air.”

“Still, I should like to be of use.”

“Hm. Well, you are taller than Phaeton…” Maevaris moved farther into the gardening shed. She rummaged around on a set of low shelves, pulling out a teal parasol made of cotton and with a handle of nevarrite and amethyst. “Here. You could provide me with some shade.”

“That’s hardly a real job requiring skill, and I could do it without an umbrella.”

“Fair enough,” she said, placing the parasol back on the shelf.

“What’s the small and pink one for?”

“This one?” she asked, pulling out a parasol of pastel pink Royal Sea Silk with a dark rose dawnstone handle.

“Yes.” Anders offered her a puzzled and slightly offended look. “It’s a bit much, I should think, even for you.”

Maevaris laughed. “I only keep this for sentimental reasons.”

“Oh?”

“When I was a little girl, you couldn’t pry this one out of my hands.”

“Until you got your first staff?”

“This was my first staff.”

“No, really?”

“Yes, and looking back it was more than a bit daft, but my father allowed it. For a month or so.”

“Let me hazard a guess as to why it was taken away from you,” Anders offered with a small smile. “Did you try to poke someone’s eye out?”

“Perhaps. And he would have deserved it too for snickering so very much.”

Anders snorted. “Then what happened?”

“It became clear I was going to be more of a brawler though, and I was willing to trade this in for dawnstone knuckles. Also Phaeton suggested the parasol was, as you said, a bit much.”

“And that mattered?”

“Considering the rest of what he was willing to put up with, yes.”

“The rest includes…what, exactly?”

“Stories, tea times, puppet shows… I don’t know. Whatever foolish notion I got in my head. He trained me to fight in-between indulging those whims.”

“Did he go with you to school?”

“No, which made me miserable, but he’d have had a horrible time and... Worse might have happened, to be honest, if someone who didn’t much care for me cornered him or needed a slave for a ritual.”

“Were there many people who didn’t care for you?”

“Oh, I’m certain there were.”

“And now?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry were I you. I can count my current enemies on one hand.” 

She had meant it as a joke of sorts, but it had probably been the wrong thing to say, given the frown on the other mage’s face. “Who are your enemies?”

“Rivals and people I disagree with. I don’t have an arch nemesis or anything as exciting as that."

“Don’t look into getting one,” Anders advised. “It’s exceedingly tiresome.”

“Still, it would be better than petty arguments and half-hearted… insults.”

Anders’ eyes had narrowed considerably. “Were you about to say assassination attempts?”

Maevaris focused on putting the pink parasol away. “No, no. Of course not.”

“You were.”

“Mostly as a jest, Anders.”

“But not entirely.”

“Let’s just say that when the Imperial Senate is not in session, it’s hardly a concern and when I am in Minrathous, I’m careful about who and where I dine as a general rule. Magisters are a lazy, miserly lot. They prefer to eliminate competition at their parties and gatherings. Witnesses can be paid off with far less gold than the guild.”

“I see.”

Soon they moved out into the sprawling gardens surrounded her manor. Herbs lived in and around the greenhouse. The rest of the yard was devoted to more colorful and less useful plants arranged in different, elaborate designs. In the center of it all was a sand garden, its swirling shapes freshly raked. There was also a stone labyrinth composed of large pieces of onyx.

“So if you tire of me, I could live out here,” Anders said, taking it all in.

“There’s probably room for you in the shed,” Maevaris cheerfully admitted.

“How do you afford all of this? An inheritance or…? I suppose it’s rude to ask.”

Maevaris shrugged, uncertain as to whether she felt uncomfortable discussing the matter even as she did just that. “An enormous inheritance, shrewd investments, a husband with a thriving business… It’s all really quite common in Tevinter.”

“I’m sure nothing about you is ‘quite common.’”

She smiled. “Yes, well, let’s find your plants, shall we?”

*

After showing him where various supplies were and shooing away slaves who offered to help, Maevaris left Anders to his plants. On her own, she tended to her rose bushes, examining each plant and pruning as needed. Rather than going all the way back to the shed for shears, she just used a Spirit Blade shaped like a large pair of scissors.

She pricked herself on several thorns, wondering why she even bothered with gloves if they weren’t going to do her any damn good. She really needed to just give up on looking halfway decent, and invest in a pair of bronto hide, but they always looked so ghastly in the shops.

“Your apron’s coming undone,” Anders informed her.

“I’ll get to it in a moment,” she said, working on the last set of yellow roses. She’d finished up with the pink, which just left the blue and the black.

Then she blinked, biting her lip as the strings of her apron tightened. Managing not to gasp didn’t stop her from losing her concentration, however. Her bright blue Spirit scissors spun in the air and then dissolved as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Having fun?” Anders asked, his lips closer to her ear than they had been in previous conversation.

“I usually do. Only you can’t take my measurements with a bit of cord, you know.”

“I know.” He wrapped the strings around her waist before once before tying them behind her. “There,” he said, his hands resting lightly against her hips before he moved back. 

“Thank you,” she said, privately wishing he’d done a less effective job so he’d have to re-tie the strings again. This was a positively idiotic thought, and she glared at the roses as if they were to blame as she cleared her throat. “I ought to… That is…” Maker’s Sake, she was never wearing an apron again.

Anders didn’t laugh but he sounded amused. “The roses, yes. Should I help? I’m done with mine.”

“I’d prefer to do it. I’m difficult like that.”

“I’m sure it works out for your servants,” Anders observed. When she glanced at him, he’d moved further away and he was examining some of the trees surrounding the roses. “This is my second favorite part of the garden. Your greenhouse is… I don’t even recognize half of the plants in there.”

“A lot of them are native to Tevinter. I’m sure I have a book on them somewhere in the library.”

“I can ask Dorian,” Anders said. “In fact, I think I’ll have to. Before you came down to breakfast, he was telling me all about the experimental cataloging system. I believe his exact phrasing was ‘a marvelous and innovative classification of non-fiction items.’ I’m… not entirely sure he understands what those particular adjectives are meant to convey.”

“I’m sure he’s right,” Maevaris wryly replied. “It’s been just marvelous and innovative not knowing how to find a damn thing in my own library. I’ve been meaning to ask him if he paid Magister Alexius the same strange kindness or if I am to be the sole recipient of this dubious honor.”

Anders laughed. “Maybe I can work on changing—”

“Don’t,” Maevaris said with a sigh. “He’d be ever so hurt. He’d also murder you in your sleep.”

“I see.”

“This rose business shouldn’t take too long. You can wander around if you like.”

Anders blinked, frowning quite a bit. “…I’m having the weirdest sense of déjà vu.”

“Hawke enjoys gardening?”

“No, but she frequented the Blooming Rose in the Red District and often brought myself and her own brother along.”

Maevaris chuckled. “Maker, no wonder she’s taken up with Fenris if she possesses so little tact.”

“Part of her charm, some might say,” Anders said with a shrug. “I would have liked the place before Justice. I sort of liked it after. At first.”

“Well, most people like a good brothel now and then.”

Anders laughed. “Maevaris Tilani, you have never been to a brothel in your life.”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “But I know what they are and that many different types of people find them quite enjoyable.”

“Brothels can be enjoyable,” Anders agreed, “but there’s nothing quite as depressing as someone offering to touch you briefly for fifty silver.”

She couldn’t help patting his arm and taking his hand in hers.

After a stretch of silence, in which he hesitantly wrapped his fingers around hers, Anders said: “I feel a bit ridiculous.”

“Holding my hand?”

“No, saying that and having you…”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “Anders, please. I know the difference between a touch from a friend and what fifty silver will get you in a darkly lit room.”

“It’s not that. It’s just embarrassing to suddenly realize what your own clumsy intentions were, and how they might appear to someone else. After all, casually mentioning the going rate at a brothel is not the best way to get someone to hold your hand.”

“You are a bit rusty,” she said with a smile. “But it worked, and I like holding your hand. A gesture that, by the way, is entirely free of charge.”

Anders laughed, shaking his head. “Thank you, I think.”

“You’re welcome so don’t fret over it.” She considered letting go of his hand, but she didn’t want to and she didn’t have to. “You can stick around here with me if you prefer, but really you’re welcome to roam.”

“I think I might get lost without a map or a guide. Don’t you want to give me a tour?”

“You know what… I think that I do.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this one besides thanks for all the comments so far and thanks again to Tigercule for the beta. I'll try to have another chapter up soon.


	7. Chapter 7

*

For the trip to the Market, Maevaris wore a blue silk taffeta dress with gold brocade covering the bodice and lining the skirt. Dorian was dressed entirely in black with gold dragons lining the hems of his hood and his tunic. A tunic which had the sort of asymmetrical sleeves that Anders loathed.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you with one,” she said, gesturing to the hood. It had small gold embellishments that looked like wings sticking out of the sides, and she wondered why anyone thought this was a dignified look for a male Tevinter mage.

“Precisely. Dorian Pavus does not wear a hood, and therefore his father will not notice him. I am endeavoring to travel incognito, after all.”

Maevaris shook her head. “There is nothing remotely anonymous about you, darling boy.”

Dorian laughed. “You say the sweetest things. Shall we?”

She bit her lip, considering whether she wanted to leave at precisely that moment or not. “I suppose…”

She watched Dorian scowl and cross his arms. “You don’t have to check on him, surely.”

“Him?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You know exactly to whom I am referring.”

“Yes, but he is a guest, you know.”

“He is a guest, which is why you do not need to check on him or cater to every whim although… Well, his whims do seem to be virtually non-existent.”

“They do,” Maevaris agreed.

“We’re not even going that far. He’ll muddle through somehow, Mae. Honestly I’m sure he finds the constant attention very smothering.”

“He doesn’t mind it,” Anders said, peering out of his doorway. “Although he was attempting to sleep in.”

“Here, here!” Lysander added, opening his door slightly. “Any chance you could have this discussion somewhere else, Pavus? The house is very much occupied at the moment.”

“Yes, well, we’re just leaving,” Dorian muttered, looking slightly embarrassed. He started heading down the hallway to other parts of the manor.

Lysander snorted before closing his door.

“Don’t rush back on my account,” Anders suggested as Maevaris moved past him. “You look lovely, by the way.”

She stopped, glancing at him. His hair was down. His shirt was all but falling off of him and leaving very little to the imagination. She didn’t exactly mind, but for some reason what she found herself saying was: “You look rather disheveled.”

“It’s a good look for me,” Anders pointed out. “And I was sleeping in, remember?”

“Oh now this is absurd.” Dorian said, glancing back at them. “And honestly… Are we ever to leave, Mae?”

“Coming,” Maevaris insisted. “Go on ahead, dear.”

Anders frowned as Dorian muttered something and moved quickly out of sight. “Is that boy going to behave himself? I rather doubt it.”

Maevaris grinned. “Not until he’s bought something ridiculously extravagant, but we’ll have a splendid time. We always do.”

Anders seemed slightly skeptical. He yawned, rolling his shoulders back as he shrugged. “Right. Well, good luck.”

“Thank you.”

The carriage ride was rather uneventful, but then it was only a short one and the roads they traveled were local.

Dorian helped her out of the coach only after he raised his hood. “Alexius returns next week or so one assumes. I wonder if Felix will have gotten any sun.”

“He’s a bit pale, isn’t he? I’m sure he got burnt more than anything else.”

“It’s probable,” Dorian admitted. “I suppose Alexius will be off to Minrathous shortly thereafter seeing as you are.”

“He ought to be. Unless he’s sending a proxy, which I rather doubt.”

Gereon Alexius was one of the more prominent members of the Magisterium, and he was a serious sort of man, eager just as she was, for reform and change. Proxies were not unheard of, however. Some of the older Magisters, who couldn’t be bothered to attend to their role in the Imperial Senate, sent younger representatives. Many of these substitutes were Laetans looking towards self-promotion. Many were also lovers who were exchanging one sort of favor.

“I’ll be relegated to babysitting then and that’s if he takes me with,” Dorian said with a sigh. “What a lovely way to waste my time. One wonders how I’ll manage to learn anything at all.” He considered Maevaris with a hopeful smile. “I don’t suppose you’d watch Felix in my stead.”

Maevaris laughed. “What is it you think I do in Minrathous? I do just as much work as your mentor.”

Dorian sighed again, heavily this time. “It’s a pity. I suppose he could stay with his mother if I raise enough of a fuss about it, but she’s under the weather most of the time.”

“Visit the libraries and drag young Felix along. Engage in a little independent study,” Maevaris suggested. “Now. What is your assumed name during this little excursion of ours? I quite forgot to ask.”

“Oh, make something up. I’ll answer.”

“All right. Where are you from?”

“Rivain.”

Maevaris laughed. “Not in those clothes you aren’t. Far too little skin is showing.”

“Then I’m… No, let’s simplify. I’ll just be Lysander.”

“You look absolutely nothing like him.”

“Ah, but I have a hood,” Dorian said with a smirk.

Maevaris smiled. “You do at that.”

“Any suggestions in terms of behaviors or mannerisms?”

“Just complain a little more than usual, then around noon demand we visit a pub for ale and chips and some time with,” and here she made a face, “the lads.”

Dorian laughed, holding out his arm.

Maevaris smiled. “I don’t know if he’d do that.”

“Well, he does today,” Dorian said, putting her arm in his. “He’s trying to be less of an ass.”

“For what reason? Is this Wintersend? I’m fairly certain I’d remember my own birthday.”

Dorian smirked. “There’s no real reason. He is just so very pleased to be seen in public with his kind, patient mentor. As he always is. Deep down, of course.”

Maevaris chuckled. “Right, how silly of me to forget.”

*

The manor was blissfully silent upon their return. Dorian had agreed to carry in his own purchases, and Maevaris’ hadn’t amounted to much so, outside of a few of the smaller items, she left her purchases on the carriage for the servants to bring in. The produce and meat had already arrived hours before. The cook and those who worked under her had long since dealt with storing them.

Thanos was in the parlor reading a book with his feet propped on the table.

Maevaris tossed woolen socks at him. “Feet down,” she said. “Take those hideous red things off your feet then pitch them. I’m tired of mending them.”

“Yes, Mae.”

Mae patted the boy’s shoulder and smiled. “Hello, by the way. It occurs to me I never heard how the fitting went.”

“Well. I quite like what Junius was able to put together. Thanks for sending Dorian along.”

“Will I get to see your suit before you go to the opera?”

“Yes, yes.” Thanos sighed, but he didn’t seem too put upon; just confused, as he usually was, by her excitement in his doing something that didn’t involve a book. She was certain he hardly wanted to go to the theater, and she’d been doing her best not to make too much of a fuss, but she wanted to acknowledge that there was finally something on the boy’s social calendar.

“And when is that?”

“Same time next week.”

“Oh, good. Now. I wasn’t sure what else you needed, so you ought to tell me if I ought to be getting you more than socks.”

“I’m fine. Besides, you always figure out what I need without any input from me.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “There is that. I know where Lysander is… Where’s Valarien?”

“He practiced all morning and afternoon with Phaeton,” Thanos said with a small smirk. “I think he might have collapsed somewhere. After lunch, of course.”

“Anders?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. He ate breakfast with me then he went off somewhere.”

“How was breakfast?”

“Very good. You and the others should disappear more often.”

Maevaris laughed. “Oh? You told him about your paper then?”

“Yes, but he’d never heard about Daveth the Mad or the Battle itself. He actually listened and seemed to find it interesting. Unlike some.”

Valarien had a tendency to pretend to fall asleep and Lysander just yawned until Thanos gave up. Maevaris listened, of course, but it wasn’t the same. It was like a child’s mother smiling at a piano recital, predictable and not at all helpful.

“He mentioned wishing his own teachers had ever told him anything so interesting or he’d have done better at herbalism. Most of what he’s learned has been on his own and even then… It’s like he had to learn it in spite of everything not because it was allowed.”

“More than likely. From what little I can understand of such places, circles have a very set curriculum for young mages. After a certain age, permission to continue to study or pursue additional magical studies seems to be highly merit-based. And it is all determined by templars and clerics with some feeble input from senior mages who have proven themselves through that corrupt system.”

Thanos shook his head. “I enjoy pursuing my own academic interests, and I’m glad I get to choose what I study… But I can’t imagine where I’d be without someone intelligent to consult on such matters.”

“Even so… Some might say we’re a bit ill-suited for one another.”

“Then some had better not say so to me.”

Maevaris let Thanos go back to his reading as she sorted out the purchases she’d made back in own room. Most of it she put away, setting aside only three items: socks for Valarien, socks for Lysander, and a leather-bound journal for Anders to perhaps motivate him to write some more.

When she returned to the parlor, Thanos was still reading on the couch. Valarien and Dorian were playing chess in one corner. Incense was burning at the low table in front of Thanos.

Maevaris sniffed, picking up vanilla and something… She coughed, blinking a bit. “Maker’s Sake, what is that smell?”

“Lysander.” Valarien explained. “He came in smelling like a musty beer keg and waving about these tar-black cigars. Lit one to try and entice us. Then we banished him.”

Dorian held up a wooden box. “And kept the cigars.”

“Hence the incense,” Thanos concluded without looking up from his book.

Maevaris sighed, resting a hand on a hip. “He has been told time and time again that it is either cigarettes or a pipe.”

“I’ll give them to my father if you like,” Dorian offered.

“As long as I never have to smell them again, I don’t care where they wind up.” Maevaris crossed her arms, glancing out the window. It was raining lightly, and now that she’d noticed it, she could hear the faint sounds of drops landing on the tile roof above them. “Have any of you--”

“Seen Anders?” Dorian asked, mildly scornful. “Oh, Mae, why does it matter? I am certain that he’s fine even if he is still outside. A few drops of rain hardly equals a torrential downpour.”

Thanos glanced up dutifully. “I could go look for him.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”

“Thanos, ignore him and do whatever you like. Dorian, are we playing a game or aren’t we?” Valarien asked impatiently. “It’s been your move for ages.”

“So eager to lose.”

“Not when my opponent is too slow to win.”

They went back to their chess board, making bold and stupid moves from what she could tell. Varric and Thorold had played the game every now and then. She’d even made her husband play against Archon Radonis during his brief visit to Qarinus, but she’d never cared for the game herself. She’d enjoyed watching though, leaning over her husband’s shoulder and whispering…

She sighed quietly but wistfully. “Don’t worry about it,” Maevaris said to Thanos when she noticed he was still looking to her for instruction. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

*

Despite her small but lingering concerns, she headed to the kitchens to see how dinner was coming along. They were also a considerable distance from the gardens, which was where she strongly would have preferred to go. But she had no desire to appear foolish or smothering. Anders was a grown man, after all. A little rain wouldn’t hurt him.

Knowing this, however, did not prevent Maevaris from being relieved to see that Anders was, in fact, indoors.

In the entrance to the main hall, Anders was glowering at trio of elven servants. They were trying to hand him what seemed like an excessive amount of towels. She imagined they’d attempted to dry him off before realizing that was far from acceptable.

“Ladies,” Anders insisted his tone imperious and unfriendly, “I appreciate this, I do, but I am perfectly fine.”

Two of them were still doing their best to seem sympathetic to whatever plight they imagined Anders to currently have. He hardly seemed soaked to the bone. The bronze tunic he wore was damp and clinging, its one sleeve quite noticeably wet, but that was about it.

One of them was rapidly losing her willingness to argue with him. “You must at least agree to take off your boots. We cannot allow you to track mud into our mistress’ home.”

“Then hand me a towel and leave, if you wouldn’t mind,” Anders said through clenched teeth. “Don’t keep throwing them at me. I hardly need an entire country’s worth of terrycloth.”

“Give us your boots then.”

“How much mud do you imagine I’ve encountered between here and the garden?”

“Really, it’s quite all right,” Maevaris said to… _Kaffas_ , she needed to learn their names. It hadn’t occurred to her, but she’d speak to Phaeton about it. “I’ll deal with him. He’s my guest.”

“Yes, mistress. We were—”

“Oh, you did very well,” Maevaris assured her and then the others as well. “Just leave me one more towel, and I think we’re all set. Thank you for being so thorough and diligent on my behalf.”

They nodded in unison and left. Two moved rapidly towards the kitchens, and one carried the towels back to whence they came. If they had complaints to make, they would wait until she was entirely out of earshot.

Anders shook his head, making use of the only towel he’d actually wanted. “I was this close to telling them to shoo, only I would have felt terrible.”

“It probably wouldn’t have worked. Did you get lost?”

“No, I was just walking and then the rain started. And it felt rather nice so I stayed out in it for a moment or two. If I’d realized I’d be descended upon by a swarm of overzealous elven women, I’d have dashed inside hours ago.”

Maevaris chuckled. “I imagine they’re used to belonging to needier, older mages who can’t handle a spring shower. Most magisters would want far more than a country’s supply of terrycloth. Maybe something softer and less useful to the whole drying process. Silk or satin or cashmere.”

“Ridiculous. They’ll never dry off properly.”

“I quite agree,” Maevaris said. “Well, you seem just fine to me, but your hair’s quite wet.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to fuss, Maevaris, keep it to the bare minimum. I’m not above running past you and tracking mud all over your house.”

Maevaris eyed his boots, which seemed rather clean, all things considered. “I see,” she said, smirking as she looked up. “Is this before or after you go back outside and stomp around in whatever mud you can find?”

“After.”

“Some guest you are,” Maevaris teased. “Lean down a bit. You’re too tall.”

He leaned over slightly, considering some point just to the right of her shoulder as she dried his hair.

“Do you ever style this?” she asked, lightly twining her fingers in Anders’ hair for half a moment. “Or cut it?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “No.”

“You could use a trim. I think I sort of like how you’re always several steps away from clean shaven,” she said, lightly brushing a finger along his jawline. She noted but didn’t comment on the way he slightly shuddered. He was so twitchy, so unused to any sort of contact. It made it difficult not to touch him all the more for it.

“The length works for you,” she said soothingly. “I wouldn’t change it. All the same, you should get your hair cut. Split ends aren’t healthy.”

“I am not going with you to your favorite barber or letting him do to my hair what your tailor did to my sleeves.”

Maevaris laughed. “Do cheer up, Anders. The rest of what’s being sent over has proper sleeves. I’ve told you that.”

“I believe you, but still… I’m not keen on having someone messing with my hair.”

“What if I cut it? Just a little bit? Now is the perfect time, seeing as I’m not busy. I doubt you’ve anything pressing to attend to. Or am I mistaken?”

Anders frowned. “You won’t talk me into any sort of odd hairstyle?”

“No, and I would never do anything like that without your permission,” Maevaris assured him. “Never. I like your hair. I like the rest of you as well. And in most respects, you look just fine as you are,” she said, straightening the collar of his tunic. “More than fine sometimes.”

“Just not in the clothes I’ve been wearing for months on end,” Anders concluded. “All right, but if you accidentally ruin my hair I’ll… Well…”

“You’ll ruin mine?” Maevaris suggested.

“No,” Anders said immediately, frowning intensely for a second. “Of course not. It’s only hair, and I like you too. But all the same, I should be sorely vexed.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she promised.

*

This was, Maevaris realized, the first time Anders had been in her rooms. They were large and elegant and she supposed vaguely opulent.

A stained glass dragon wound its way along the edges of her windows and alongside of it were thick, black velvet curtains. The furniture was black, teal, and gold. Most of it was Dwarven and Tevinter, although the influence of the former made it difficult to tell that the latter wasn’t the same exact style.

The canopied bed was the one exception in terms of her style preferences, but then she liked the Orsleian tendency towards frames suited for larger, softer mattresses. Nearby, on a nevarrite table with legs carved to resemble peacocks, was a small gold altar that Thorold had made her. The altar had room for several candles, one of which was lit for her late husband. The flame was enchanted, and she reactivated the spell each year on his birthday.

Everything lived in its organized corner save for the wardrobe, which lived in a closet that had once been a small room. Her black makeup table was embellished with moonstone and a large mirror. Its drawers and shelves housed all manner of cosmetics, salves, balms, and potions.

Phaeton cleared his throat from the doorway then he strode into the room, setting down two coffee mugs on the vanity.

“When is dinner?” she asked.

“Two hours or so. Is that acceptable?”

“Perfectly fine. I was just curious.” And vaguely peckish, she realized, discreetly moving towards the plate of scones he’d brought with.

“Is everything well?” Phaeton asked, considering Anders. There was nothing much to the look, but it was a thoughtful and thorough one.

“Yes, we’re just working on Anders’ hair. It’s a bit… Unruly.” Assuming the matter was settled, she nibbled a scone which proved to be cranberry orange. Then took a slightly larger bite. Then another.

“I suppose you did not wish to disturb your students.”

Oh, for Maker’s Sake. “Hm?”

“I suppose, mistress, that you chose this location as you did not wish to disturb your students.”

Maevaris swallowed before glancing at Phaeton. His brow was a bit furrowed, and he was, she realized, concerned. Not so much about them being alone in a room as something else, which he wasn’t about to say with Anders present. “Oh, right, of course. Thank you, Phaeton. I… Well, we ought to speak later.”

“Mistress,” Phaeton said before swiftly departing.

“It’s a wonder you don’t get lost in here,” Anders said, as she showed him around once they were done drinking their coffee. “Or lonely.”

“I’m not lonely. Not really,” Maevaris said. Usually she meant it, but with Anders there, it suddenly occurred to her that the room was too large for one person.

Something in her tone must have indicated as much for Anders winced in response. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Well, of course not. Even if you had… I’m hardly made of glass, you know.”

Anders shook his head, inspecting the tomes on the small bookshelf she kept in the back of the room. It was near the window and close to a large desk covered in neat stacks of papers. “I honestly… Just… ignore what I said. Please.”

Maevaris smiled gently. “Ignore what?”

Anders managed a glance in her direction. “Thank you.”

“I can spend a fair bit of time in here, it’s true, but then I like so much about my home that I wouldn’t want to stay in one corner of it for too long.”

“Is it difficult when you have to leave for Minrathous?”

“No, although the apartments I have are a bit smaller. There’s plenty of room for a handful of people, but nothing like this.”

“Right. Um. So where do you want me?” Anders sighed heavily. “To sit, I mean.”

“The chair in front of the mirror. That way you can watch me. Cut your hair. This is impossible.”

Anders laughed. “In my defense, I honestly can’t remember the last time I was in someone else’s bedroom.”

“Then I’m not sure which of us is more unfortunate as I can’t remember the last time someone else was in here,” Maevaris said with a small sigh. “Maybe somewhere else would have been better. Or would be?”

“We’ll manage,” Anders assured her, sitting down in the chair she’d indicated earlier. “So what do I need to do? Sit here and avoid making horrible faces in the mirror?”

“And don’t turn your head,” Maevaris agreed, draping a towel over his shoulders. She leaned over him, grabbing a small velveteen bag from the tabletop. “Remember. It’s just a trim and you’re in Tevinter. I’m not going to do anything Orlesian to you.”

Anders glared balefully in her direction. “Maevaris,” he said in a disappointed tone.

She couldn’t help laughing. “Oh dear. What’s the matter?”

“Now you’re just doing that on purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything Orlesian,” Anders repeated. “What am I meant to assume?”

“Oh.” She hit his shoulder lightly before she moved away from him. “Well, not that for starters.”

Anders chuckled. “Sorry.”

“You should be,” Maevaris said, but she couldn’t keep from sounding amused. “I’m certainly not going to do anything like that to you anytime soon if a sigh is what I get at the mere suggestion.”

“You ought to consider behaving then. You’re going to get a great deal of sighing from me if you continue to offer up mere suggestions,” Anders groused.

“You’re not much fun,” she said with a smile. She rummaged around in the bag, tossing it gently towards the bed after locating a dragon toothcomb and a small pair of silverite scissors. “Now hold still.”

*

Anders’ haircut took hardly any time at all, which was unsurprising seeing as he had only agreed to --and had only received-- a trim.

“There. Good as new,” she said when she was finished, running a hand through his hair one more time. “Not much of a noticeable difference, but you’ll feel it.”

“Hm. Thanks,” Anders said, but he wasn’t looking in the mirror at himself so much as at her.

She smoothed his hair out, brushing stray strands from his shoulder. “You’re welcome."

He hesitated as if he was preparing to do something particularly difficult. Then he touched her fingers, catching them in-between his and holding them in place for a moment. “I suppose… That is, you must have plenty to do.”

 _I’ve not a thing to do before dinner,_ was what she wanted to say. _In fact, if you’d wanted, we could do this until it’s on the table._ But she couldn’t really, not without getting an answer she didn’t want and that Anders would regret giving later when he was on his own.

At that moment, his eyes were darting away from the mirror, focused on everything and nothing all at once. He was looking anywhere but at her, it seemed, and it felt like whatever she said wouldn’t be enough for him to believe she was in earnest.

“I’ve nothing extremely urgent, but then… I rather imagine I’ve tried your patience enough for one day,” Maevaris said. She gently pulled the towel off of him, letting him keep a hold of her hand.

“If anything, it’s the opposite. Me imposing on yours.”

“Hardly. You can’t impose on mine. I haven’t got any. I only do that which I care to do, spend time with those I wish to spend time with. I hope you know that.”

Anders smiled but it was slight and vaguely grim. “Still…”

“Still,” she agreed. Maevaris took her hand back, wrapping it and the other one around his neck for a second. She kissed his hair gently in a way that could have meant something or nothing at all. “You’re a strange one,” she said affectionately, “but that’s not bad. Far from it, I think. In addition to everything else, I rather like that about you too.”

“You’re… I don’t know what to even say about you,” Anders replied, swallowing hard. “I keep thinking I ought to find something to say to you. Something… But that’s just it. I don’t know what it ought to be. I wish I did, Maevaris. I do know that much.” He let his fingers wander over her arms for a second then he rose abruptly to his feet. “I should…”

“I know,” she said kindly, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Well. Go on then. It’s alright. I’ll see you at dinner, which, one hopes, isn’t too long from now.”

“You will,” he agreed, looking at her for another moment as if memorizing her features. Then he strode past her quickly, and out the door.

It wasn’t enough. Truth be told, what she’d gotten was hardly anything at all, but she was glad that he could give her that much at least.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Tigercule, for the beta! I will try to get the next chapter done a bit sooner considering how this one ends.


	8. Chapter 8

*

Dinner was a quiet, awkward affair primarily because Maevaris put no energy into her small part of the conversations going on around her.

A different sort of woman, Maevaris mused, would have been feeling a bit melancholy having spent the better part of an hour in large, lonely rooms. She felt—or at least she was only willing to allow herself to feel—pensive. At the table, she considered what she ought to do next or if she was the one who ought to do anything at all.

To the boys, it probably amounted to the same sort of thing, but she couldn’t share her thoughts with them. They were too young to understand these sorts of complications. Then again, she felt she didn’t understand it much either.

She could tell that, from time to time, Anders was staring at her. This was only, of course, when she wasn’t looking. She made an effort to focus her attention down at her plate, eating slowly and letting him look. But it made her feel a bit like a captive swan, which wasn’t really how one wanted to feel when one was hungry.

“Whatever is the matter?” Dorian asked finally. While he seemed concerned, he’d obviously been trying not to ask the question for some time. The words were blurted out loudly not to mention rather forcefully, and Thanos startled a bit on the other side of the table.

Maevaris looked up. “Hm?”

“Shall I be more specific?” Dorian asked with a frown. “Whatever is the matter with you, Mae?”

“Oh, lay off her,” Valarien said, “and leave it, Pavus. Not everything is up for debate.”

“I shan’t leave it. How and where would you have me leave it? My concern is not a parcel.”

“Otherwise we could happily return it to sender,” Lysander said with a yawn. “It could be something she doesn’t wish to discuss. Or that she simply doesn’t wish to carry the conversation at all times.”

“We don’t have to talk at dinner,” Thanos said, turning brown eyes in her direction. “Not all of the time.” He was as faithful and determined as ever to allow Maevaris to do whatever she wanted. He was going to make someone else very happy one day.

“Would you care to add anything, Anders?” Dorian asked with a sigh.

“No. Although I do think it more likely that Maevaris would have deigned to answer the question you posed to her _before_ everyone started acting as though she were a rather inarticulate child.”

“A fair point. I’m sorry, Mae, but… Something does seem to be wrong.”

“I’m sure nothing is,” Maevaris said, wishing they would all consider staring at something else besides her. It would have made for a lovely change of pace. She rose to her feet, sighing and setting down her napkin. “Not exactly. At any rate, you’ll have to excuse me. All this speculation has made me rather fatigued.”

She was, of course, unable to stay there because something was slowly becoming wrong. She could already feel her resolve to accept things as they were crumbling, and her plans to navigate her way past whatever defenses that Anders had constructed sufficiently impaired already. It didn’t help to imagine he was fortifying them even as Dorian asked her what the matter was.

As Maevaris went outside, she found herself actually sighing. She’d have felt a good deal better if she’d gotten a proper kiss out of Anders earlier in the evening before she let him go.

Men were so very useless. Women would have understood, they would have made conversation over her and ignored her for a bit. They wouldn’t have stared and pried and talked as though she were a broken footstool until all she could think about was how to get away from them.

Crouching down, she pried up one of the bricks surrounding her blue roses uncovering a small stash of cigarettes comprised of dwarven tobacco with a hint of pomegranate and royal elfroot. She took one of them then put the brick back down, smoothing down the skirt of her dress as she got back to her feet. Then she headed out into the sand garden, stretching out on a bench and lighting the cigarette with two fingertips.

She could blame herself. She could blame Varric. She could blame it on so many people. But this wasn’t a matter of who but of what, and what was to blame was the situation itself. Being around someone and having it lead to feelings was nothing new, but it was tediously predictable. It was also entirely inevitable.

Maevaris imagined that this was not something that Anders had wanted until he suddenly he had. Only now he had no idea what to do about it, and she didn’t have the patience to coax him along like some sort of shy pony. The only thing she wasn’t questioning at the moment was whether or not he was genuinely interested. He was, he most certainly was, because if there was one thing Maevaris was never wrong about it was when a man wanted her.

“This is not,” Dorian said, “a very good way to convince me that nothing is wrong.”

Maevaris glanced up, blowing smoke away from them. “Valarien’s right, dear. You ought to leave it.”

“Did he do something?”

Maevaris shook her head.

“Did you?”

She shook her head again.

“Is that the problem then?”

“Dorian…”

“No, listen, Mae… I know I’m probably not who you want to talk to. I imagine you want a gaggle of… well, romantic-minded individuals who could offer up appropriate reactions to your woes, but I’m the one here,” Dorian said, sitting down on a rock in front of her.

“The problem, darling, is that I do not wish to talk.”

“To me? To Anders?”

“To anyone. I do not wish to talk to anyone,” she said, “and that is especially true of Anders.” She drew in more smoke, exhaling it slowly. “Talking is not at all what I wish to do with him.”

Dorian considered this. “Ah, I see. Although…”

Maevaris sighed. “Yes?”

“If that’s the case, then… There shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, what with the way he was staring at you. The way he does stare at you. The way he wants to be within inches of you at all times. The amount of time he spends with you. I’ve only witnessed it for days now, and already I’m contemplating never visiting you again until you’ve sorted this out.”

Maevaris chuckled, drawing her legs up underneath her. “Oh, Dorian, it’s not that simple.”

“Which somehow appeals to you.”

“If he appeals to me,” she said, flicking ashes away, “then all of that which makes him who he is appeals to me. Even the parts I find rather frustrating.”

“I sorry to have behaved the way I did at dinner,” Dorian said quietly. “If I’ve made things worse—”

“Never, Dorian. You were worried,” Maevaris said gently. It was painfully obvious that he still was, but then he was young, so very young yet. He didn’t understand too much about too many things, particularly with regards to himself. Still, she thought, he was a very good-hearted, remarkable boy. And she loved him, she really did. “I appreciate what you were trying to do for me. I always do.”

He got to his feet with a sigh. “It’s a bit brisk out. You should go in soon.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’d rather,” Dorian said, leaning down and kissing her cheek, “that you were happy.”

“I am,” she told him. She wasn’t the sort to let something get her down for too long. “Only… Only perhaps not as happy as I could be at this precise moment.”

“Perhaps not,” Dorian said with a sigh. “I’ll keep visiting, which you well know,” he added, reluctantly moving away from her. “But you had better talk to Anders soon or I will.”

“Yes, dear.”

*

In the morning, it seemed clear that, if Maevaris knew a man wanted her, she could make him want her all the more and quite easily too. Was it fair? Oh, hardly, but that only made it seem like a good idea.

She wore an elegant black sleeveless gown covered in embroidered gold leaves with blue and white flowers. She laced up gold sandals then she painted her lips and nails. Once they’d dried, she found gold rings for her fingers and one black feather earring for her left ear.

“Maker,” Lysander said, regarding her from over the rim of his coffee mug. “You know, there are days when you don’t look very old at all.”

“Add that to your list of things to never say to a woman,” Maevaris said to Thanos as she sat down. “Honestly, when you’re out and about with him, just do the opposite.”

“Mistress, this arrived for you,” Phaeton said, holding out a thin piece of ebony that was roughly the size of a small card.

It was short and typical of this sort of first meeting. Most of the card was covered in carved twining scorpions which meant House Scorpius. A particularly unscrupulous House, not one of the original families and not even Laetans, but Soporati. Ages ago, the first members of that family had made their fortunes by well-paying jobs in the assassin guild. They had married into Altus families only to ply the tricks of their trade to kill their spouses. She tucked the card under her napkin but not before Valarian got a good look at it.

“Maker guide us and watch over us,” Valarien said, sitting down at the table.

“What?” Anders asked, glancing over.

“Another one,” Lysander said with a sigh. “Another bloody suitor.”

“Scorpius,” Valarien said.

Lysander made a face. “Don’t drink or eat around him then. Or touch the presents. Or let him in the house, really.”

Thanos frowned. “Maker’s Breath, that was hundreds of years ago. I am certain most of it was rumor and speculation geared to prevent Altus families from allowing anyone without magical ancestry to climb anywhere near their family trees. And anyway didn’t one of your ancestors bake someone into a pie, Lysander?”

"Yes, but it was a good pie and the only person who died was… well, a bad man.”

“That is not the story at all, and you know it.”

“He’s not here, is he?” Maevaris asked, ignoring her squabbling children.

“In the parlor, mistress,” Phaeton said stiffly. “I did tell him you were occupied, and that he would have to wait. One does appreciate advanced notice.”

“Right. I’ll worry about it after breakfast then. Don’t bother to tell him.”

“Very good, mistress.”

“I don’t know why I even go to trouble of showing up for meals around here,” Dorian said as he entered the room. “It’s like going to my own funeral day in and day out. Now what’s happened?”

“Oh, another day, another suitor I don’t want.” Maevaris held out the card before inspecting the food on the table. She helped herself to a small stack of pancakes and two strips of bacon.

“Another magister.”

“Well, of course.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Anders said. “If you don’t wish—”

“The card is from another magister,” Dorian explained before sitting down next to Maevaris. “She has to hear him out, let him try to get to know her, and above all else turn him down gently.”

“She can’t just say get the hell out of my house?”

Dorian chuckled. “I’d like to see it.”

“No, you would not,” Valarien replied, mouth full of food. “All that invites is a lot of gossip and other sorts of visitors. Not that I’d worry seeing as it’s Mae and we live here, but… still… Spring’s such a nice time. Why ruin it with an assassination attempt when you can just deal with a few awkward meetings before giving him the boot?”

“You are not serious,” Anders said.

“No one likes rejection,” Valarien said with a shrug, “and no one sorts that out quite like an Altus.”

“No one else could afford to,” Dorian agreed. “We make certain of that.”

“My aunts all got this sort of treatment from time to time,” Lysander said with a sigh. “Well and truly awful. All of them creepy and oily and hello there young lad,” he said voice going all squeaky and strange as he attempted some sort of accent. “I’m to be your new Uncle. Ha ha. I say, is that rug expensive?” He shuddered and sipped his coffee. “But I’m sure this gentleman will be quite nice, Mae.”

“Right,” Anders said, getting to his feet. “I’m not putting up with this.” He left the table and headed in the complete opposite direction of his room. Instead, he was moving towards the parlor.

“I should probably stop him,” Maevaris said thoughtfully. “After breakfast.”

*

She finished her meal quickly, wiping lightly at the corners of her lips before heading to the parlor. To her surprise, both mages were sitting across from another and laughing.

“It’s the damned scorpions on everything we own. And the made up last name, but you do what you have to in order to get— Oh, hello.”

To his credit, Cassius Scorpius, despite his ridiculous name and terrible coat of arms, was surprisingly handsome. His skin was dark, his hair was dark brown, long and dreaded. He was dressed all in leather, black and dark red. His hood was simple and without any embellishments.

“Hello. I’m Magister Maevaris Tilani,” she said, letting him take her hand in his. “I think you can call me Maevaris seeing as no one is… well, things seem to be all right in here.”

“Things are fine. I’m Magister… Well, the card says it all and then some,” he said with a smile. “Cassius suits me. I should have got here sooner. Damned shame. You’re even prettier than he said.”

“He?”

“Altus Lafrenius. Ex-drinking partner,” Cassius said with a smirk. “He was been going on and on about you. Imbecile even tried to… Well, never you mind. It’s taken care of.”

Maevaris raised an eyebrow. Considering the rumors, she had a decent idea as to what Horatio had suggested. “He didn’t.”

“He did. Insulted you and me in a single breath, never met a man so stupid,” Cassius said. “Point is, I had… words with him with my fist. Then I thought I ought to see what all the fuss was about. He didn’t mention you being with the actual Anders though. I’d have introduced myself sooner. Don’t get up this way often. Highway’s a disaster.”

“Still?”

“Worse than ever. Thought I’d try my hand at courting, but I couldn’t figure out what to bring so I went with plants. Should still be useful if you both like gardening.”

“Both?” Maevaris asked sharply, looking at Anders. “And why should that matter?”

“Well, you’re being courted already.”

Of all the insufferable, childish lies to tell someone, Anders had to pick something like that. He wouldn’t so much as hold her hand for five minutes, but he would tell someone... She inhaled quietly and then exhaled slowly. Did Anders understand anything at all? This wasn’t some sort of game. People would hear of this, people would believe it, and in the mean time they could barely…

“Are you all right?” Cassius asked, getting to his feet.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just absolutely perfect." Anders had the decency to look sheepish and, well, apologetic. Maevaris didn’t think he could have looked sorry enough. “Today has not been a particularly good day for me.”

Cassius frowned. “I can see that, actually. You’re all right at least?”

She had to look away from him in order to answer. “Yes, perfectly fine. I should…”

Cassius set a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “ _Kaffas_ , I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t,” she said quietly. “Don’t be.”

She couldn’t stand this. Sympathy from a magister who was actually attractive and marginally suitable. More of the same from a mage who had just done his level best to clear out her social calendar for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d planned on filling in those empty spaces with anything at all, but so far he’d given her nothing but an ache in her chest that she could have done without. She was livid, struggling not to clench her fists and grit her teeth. It was just as well that both men seemed to think she was on the verge of bursting into tears.

“Here’s the thing,” she said, striving to sound calm. “He’s not courting me. Not yet, but he’s… Overprotective. I wish to make it clear, however, that I am accepting responsibility for what happened. I prefer that it is viewed as it should be. As my fault.”

Anders frowned. “Maevaris—”

Cassius held up a hand, and it was frustrating when the look he gave her was a knowing one. “There’s honestly no need,” he protested. “I’m not going to… Maker’s Breath, if you have to worry about this with other suitors, it’s no wonder he came barging in here prepared to take my head off. Weird way of showing affection though, I must say.”

“I’m sorry,” Anders managed, still looking at her. 

He sounded uncertain as if he just didn’t understand why she’d had to tell Cassius the truth, and she imagined he didn’t. She imagined he thought that she’d changed her mind and what little interest she had in him had just transferred itself to someone else. She wanted to reassure him, she wanted to point out the she had more than a little affection for Anders… But it was one thing to not know what to do with his own feelings. It was another for Anders to tell someone he had them before he’d even said as much to her.

“I know,” she said quietly. She turned to Cassius. “Thank you. I doubt very much you want to stay and chat.”

“Not today,” he said with a small shrug. “I think you had the right of it. This hasn’t been a particularly good day for you.”

“Or you?”

Cassius smirked. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. My curiosity is both satisfied and piqued. If you want to make it up to me though, I wouldn’t say no to dinner.”

“In Minrathous? I’d like that.”

“Your apartments then since you’re the one making this mess up to me. Mine is a pile of boxes at the moment. Just got the place and the position recently. Earned it. Like you. Only I’m not as pretty.”

Maevaris smiled.

Cassius smiled back and glanced over to Anders. “Maker’s Sake, man,” he said, moving forward and patting Anders’ shoulder. “You’d think we were plotting your untimely demise.”

“He can be a bit glum.”

“It’s not so much feeling glum,” Anders muttered. “Not at the moment.”

“That settles it,” Cassius said, “you’ll have to join us for dinner. Assuming you plan on doing more than staring at her like that. At least consider it? I’m likely to still be available, and I've no doubt she’ll be just as pretty then as now.”

Anders just shrugged.

“Still a damned shame,” Cassius said, glancing at Maevaris as he left. “You’d be worth the trouble.”

Once Cassius was gone, Maevaris moved over to inspect the plants. They were all orchids, all purple, and all completely harmless. It was, in some respects, a damned shame for her as well. She might have been interested in Cassius if she wasn't so fond of the fool two feet away from her.

“I thought he’d leave and that would be the end of it,” Anders said after a few moments of silence. “Only he wasn’t really terrible. More than that, Maevaris, if I'm honest. He was someone you could like, and I couldn’t…”

“I like you,” she said quietly as she looked up at him. “I’ve told you that.”

“You did,” Anders admitted, “but I’m not a choice for someone like you. I don’t deserve—”

“I don’t care about what you think you deserve,” Maevaris snapped. “Not even a little. I want you. I deserve you.”

“You think that now. Only now. You don’t want me. You certainly don’t deserve someone like me in your life. You could have anyone at all.”

She closed the distance between them, and touched his cheek. “Don’t take choices away from me. Give them to me. If you want to chase my suitors away, Anders, it’s easy. Just give me a reason to get rid of them. I want you to. More than anything.”

He caught her hand in his, placing it firmly against her side. “I can’t. I can’t and I won’t give you a reason. If you want me to leave—”

“I don’t,” she said quietly, realizing what he was doing. Or trying to do since it wasn’t really going to work. It still hurt that he’d say it to her. That he’d said no when all he had to say was yes. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to waiting for you to catch up with me.”

“You’re going to be waiting a very long time,” Anders said, wincing at his own harsh tone.

“I’ve noticed,” she said flatly, and then she left the room.

*

Maevaris spent the day on her own training in her gym, answering and composing letters, preparing speeches for the capital, and feeling a bit numb. Phaeton brought her coffee, then croissants, and then dinner. He seemed constantly to be at her elbow, but he was kind enough to never say anything at all.

In the evening, she roamed the grounds of her estate. She wandered and wandered until she arrived at the sand garden. Honestly this was where she spent the least amount of time for meditation, guided or otherwise, typically made her restless. But looking at the spirals in the sand and the wooden rake that had been left out, she decided she’d give it a try. She unlaced her boots, rolling her socks down and off. She left it all on a bench made of carved nevaritte before moving into the sand.

Mostly, she walked, making shapes with her toes when she felt like it. It was something different, and she was alone, which lead to thinking about Anders. She should have kissed him properly. Held him there in her arms and kissed him until some of the tension and any of the guilt went away.

But she imagined he’d only do what he’d done that morning. Shove her away and hope it hurt enough that she stopped trying. Did he honestly think she’d stop trying? Doubtlessly it worked on people. It had worked on him because she was certain his friends had played the same cruel game with him. But she could only do so much. Some of this was up to Anders. Some of this she honestly couldn’t control, and that part… That troubled her, which rather defeated the purpose of the sand garden.

“It’s awfully late.”

 _Anders_. Maevaris glanced over her shoulder. “Is it?”

“Yes, and I was meaning to ask you. You’re not trying to grow sand out here, are you? Because I don’t think that’s how sand works.”

She chuckled. “It’s for meditation.”

“Not frolicking?”

“This is not frolicking. This is walking.”

“Right. Would you consider walking over here then?"

“Why?”

Anders held up a coat. One of the dark wool ones she kept, lined with fur and fringed with blue feathers.

“It isn’t even that cold out,” she said. “You cannot possibility be cold.”

“I’m used to Ferelden and the Free Marches where it's always cold. You’re not. And you’re barefoot.”

“I’ll muddle through somehow.”

Anders eyed her thoughtfully, lowering the coat. “All right,” he decided, “I’ll come to you then.”

“No,” she said and he froze. She let him stand there wondering what reason she would give for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “That is, you can’t wear boots here. The servants won’t ever let you into my house again.”

“I don’t give a damn about what your servants will do.”

“Stop,” she insisted as he took another half-step.

Anders scowled. “What now?”

“Take your boots off because I want you to,” she said. “Don’t ruin my sacred meditation garden.”

“Oh, it’s sacred now, is it?” Anders asked, crossing his arms. It might have had more of the proper effect had he not been carrying her coat.

“Yes, you come in here with a rake or a stick and you make patterns. Relieves you of stress.”

“And dancing about in the sand does… what exactly?”

“I have,” she said in a firm tone, “been walking.”

“Could you walk closer to me so I can hand you your coat?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“Because?”

“Because I don’t want my coat. Because…" She bit her lip as she turned away from him. "Because you’ll leave.”

“I’m going to give you the coat so you’ll be warm,” Anders explained, “and because Phaeton told me to. I’m not planning on going anywhere. I am going to stay right here because you’re outside in the middle of the night.”

Maevaris sighed. “It’s not even that late. There’s parties at the capital that have only just started, and I am hardly in need of a chaperone. This is my house. I can do whatever I wish to in my backyard.”

“Can you wish to wear a coat?”

“I’ve told you before. I’m not fragile, and after our chat this morning… Well, I’m sure you don’t care.”

“Maevaris,” Anders said, sounding rather exasperated.

“Anders.”

“This is a very roundabout way of expressing one’s frustrations with someone else.”

“This has got nothing to do with you,” Maevaris said, looking back at Anders. “My life, believe it or not, doesn’t revolve around you. If you’d like it to, Anders, then you’re the one going about it in the most roundabout way possible. As for how I feel about you, frustrated is a good word for it, but I still like you.”

“Really.”

“Really,” she said turning to face him once more.

“What is it about me that you like then?”

“Everything, I should think.”

“Everything?”

“Everything including the parts you seem to hate. Especially those,” she decided. “Someone has to like them even just a little. For your sake.”

“I hate every part of myself,” Anders said through clenched teeth.

“You do not.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Anders laughed and there nothing pleasant about. “I have no money. I have no lands. I have no family. I have no friends save for you. I have no house with or without a garden. I have a reputation, of course I do, and it’s tarnished halfway to hell and back. So when I say I have nothing to give, I mean that quite literally. When I tell you that I hate myself, it is absolutely the truth, and yet you like everything about me.”

“You are not what you own, Anders,” Maevaris said gently. He seemed stiff again. Even with only starlight, it was easy to discern that he was unhappy and miserable as his shoulders hunched slightly. She imagined that he was wondering why she was doing this to him just as he always seemed to be. “You are what you are, and even when it doesn’t live up to your expectations, that doesn’t make you bad or unlovable. And yes, I like everything about you.”

Anders sighed, sitting down on a bench and tossing her coat down next to him. “I wish you didn’t then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Anders admitted. “But this is… Whatever it is you’re feeling is because we’re in the same place at the same time and you’ve nothing better to do.”

“I have an endless amount of things,” Maevaris argued. “I’d like you anywhere I saw you, Anders. Any time. Any place. If this location doesn’t suit you, pick another one. You pick it right now and I’ll meet you there and we’ll still like each other just as much as we do right now.”

Anders shook his head, looking down at his hands. “That’s a bit ridiculous. I haven’t given you any indication that I like you.”

Maevaris snorted. She smiled when he glared at her. “Oh, don’t mind me. You go on deluding yourself.”

“You’d like me anywhere,” Anders repeated scornfully. “Why would you?”

“I have had more suitors than I can name or recall,” Maevaris said, moving a little bit closer to the edge of the sand garden. “Suitors who could offer me more coin than I’ll ever need, more power than I could ever use, and more land that I would ever be able to tend to. But not one of them, not a single one, would be out here tonight with a coat looking for me.”

“Surely they would notice.”

“If they noticed, they’d send someone. They’d send a servant to tell me to come inside at once. An elf at first. Maybe a human. If I didn’t come in, they’d send a Qunari. Drag me inside, and why not? It’s late and it’s cold and I should be inside. That’s if they noticed, of course. Most of them would not. Most of them would be with their mistresses or their slaves or their lovers. They would never have any idea if I were at home or not. They wouldn’t care. We’d have married for all of the things we both didn’t need with a written understanding that if things worked out for ten years, we’d give it another ten.”

“None of them would have… ” Anders frowned. “None of them would have loved you? Ever?”

Maevaris shook her head.

“You’re sure of this?”

“What does it matter? I haven’t wanted any of them. I don’t want any of them. Particularly not right now.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you want?”

“Oh, Anders,” she said with an irritated sigh, turning away from him once more. She walked along the edges of sandy spirals, studying them thoughtfully. “If you’re out here because Phaeton handed you a coat? Because you really don’t know what I want? Go back inside.” She paused, suddenly feeling a bit cold after all. Not to mention foolish. How many opportunities for rejection did one day require? “But if you know the answer to your own stupid question, why won’t you just give up and come here and—”

Anders tapped her shoulder.

She huffed and turned around.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

“Hello. I said no…” She glanced down and saw his feet were bare. The boots were over at the bench with her coat. “Ah.”

“I unlaced them while you gave that little speech of yours,” Anders said. “You talk a great deal.”

“I do.”

“I listened. I like listening to you,” he admitted, placing warm hands on her bare shoulders. “It keeps me from saying a least a small fraction of the stupid things I’d ordinarily blurt out.”

“Not enough of them,” she coolly observed.

“Well, that’s hardly your fault. There’s only so much you can do,” Anders pointed out. “But I think that I might be able to solve both of our problems fairly easily if you’re interested.”

“How’s that?” she asked, wishing she could keep herself from sounding hopeful. With her luck, Anders meant they ought to hold hands for three minutes and see what that looked like.

Instead, Anders let one of his hands cup her cheek. “Maevaris Tilani,” he said fondly, “this won’t be quick and it certainly won’t be easy, but if you’re still willing… I do want to court you.”

“Yes,” she assured him. “That is, I am more than willing unless you ask again.”

Anders chuckled then he leaned in and finally kissed her.

Maevaris tugged him closer, kissing him soundly. His arms were warm around her and she let hers rest over his, brushing fingers over his hands. He rested his head against hers when the kiss was over. He didn’t move to let go, and she had no intention of doing so for a good long while.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little messed up somehow when I posted it earlier so I deleted and reposted it. Apologies for multiple notifications. I feel like I wrote this chapter quicker than I usually do, but considering the last one I'm sure no one is surprised or minds. :)
> 
> Thank you, Tigercule for the beta and Bakaknight and TCRegan for looking over this chapter as well.


	9. Chapter 9

*  
Maevaris refused the offer to be carried indoors, but she held Anders’ hand and kissed him again when they arrived at her bedroom door.

Were it not for certain complications and appearances, she wouldn’t have left him there. She suspected if she’d indicated this preference he’d have followed her in. He wouldn’t have expected much. He wouldn’t have tried the way other men might have for more than what she was willing to give. Knowing this only made her want him more, which was hardly helpful at that precise moment.

With that in mind, she kissed him again. And then a few times more for good measure.

“Sadly the parting of ways is inevitable, albeit temporary,” she said eventually, slightly breathless. “I’d take you with me but I do like the idea of being courted.”

“It’s probably best to wait,” Anders murmured.

“Oh?”

“I hardly think,” Anders said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, “that I’d want to leave your bed once I was in it.”

“And this from the man who was through with me—”

Anders sighed. “I was never, which you knew even as I said it. And knowing you understood… To be honest, it only makes me sorrier to have been so needlessly cruel. You’re not the sort of woman that a man is ever done with.”

“What sort of woman am I then?”

“Happy. Content. Lovely. Generous. Free. You said you’d teach me how to handle being given so much. Maybe you can, but I still have my doubts as to whether anyone could teach me to be as you are.”

Maevaris smiled gently. “It’s not really a special and unique talent, I have. It’s more where I’ve lived and the way I was brought up than anything else. Anyone could be as I am.”

Anders shook his head. “It’s more than that.”

“I’d like for it to be, but I’m not entirely sure you’re right. Any sort of hardship I’ve been through—”

“Is just that,” Anders said. “And yes I’ve interrupted you twice now but it was out of necessity both times. You can’t compare your trials to mine, and you shouldn’t. It’s one thing for me to envy what you have, and I do. I’m only human, but wishing we had similar life experiences… I would never ever want that.”

“I know.”

“And you know you’ve been through hardships of your own. You’ve lost a husband and the life you had with him. Dorian, in-between scolding and scowling at me, has told me quite a bit about how hard you’ve worked to become Magister. And you didn’t even have to.”

Maevaris shook her head. “I am certain that I had to.”

“Because?”

“Because I didn’t want my life handed to me by anyone else but me,” Maevaris admitted. “I couldn’t stand the thought that someone would look at me and only see a sheltered, spoiled brat whose parents gave her everything. I wanted to earn my life and my title.”

“That is precisely why what you are is more than a combination of fortuitous circumstances and a bit of luck.”

She had no idea what to say to that, but she was grateful he’d said as much to her. That he seemed to have felt that way even before she’d explained herself.

“The thought that other mages could be like you,” Anders continued, “and have a life like this is the first blessing I’ve witnessed that wasn’t also a very mixed one. And you in particular—”

“No, no. None of that. I will accept that I’m a marvelous, virtuous, dazzlingly powerful, as beautiful as she is generous woman who is practically perfect in every way, but I draw the line at being thought of as sort some of miracle. It would make me absolutely impossible to put up with.”

Anders frowned.

“What’s the matter?”

“If I have to avoid interrupting you, then you can’t say things like that. Not when I should like to say them to you. And I don’t see why I should mind if you’re a bit more impossible than you already seem to be.”

“You make me sound like some sort of useless, exotic creature,” Maevaris pointed out. “I’m hardly a golden nug.”

“You’re much prettier,” Anders assured her. “Do we have a deal then?”

“Oh, very well.”

*

The next morning, she slept in, but still took the time to exercise before putting on a bronze gown of dragonling leather with matching sandals. It had a black feathered collar and pauldrons. She didn’t bother with rings, putting an obsidian dragon ear cuff on her right ear and moving on to breakfast. Or, well, an early lunch.

Only, her table had been converted into some sort of laboratory. Her students, although their interest seemed to vary quite a bit, were working on potions.

Whatever Thanos and Lysander were up to seemed quite advanced, but she raised an eyebrow when she saw that Valarien was still struggling with the same basic health potion that she’d taught him months ago.

“And then it should turn a bright green. If it turns any color but green, you’ve done it wrong,” Anders concluded.

Valarien frowned, shaking the vial he was holding in the vain hope it would become the appropriate color. “So purple would be…”

“As deadly as it is baffling. I didn’t think you could do that to a health potion.”

“Since it’s purple… Is it a spirit resistance tonic then?” Valarien asked, looking hopeful.

Anders laughed. “No. It’s just…a mess, really.”

Valarien's shoulders slumped as he sighed. “I got it right the first time when Mae showed me how to make these things, but since then… I’m not sure what I'm doing wrong.”

“Let’s start over,” Anders said. “And don’t look so depressed. This is why you start with health potions. Elfroot’s easy to find. So  
you go ahead and measure the exact amount on your instructions. I’ll check on the others and… Hello, Maevaris.”

“What happened to the food that is customarily placed here?”

“Side table,” Lysander told her without looking up.

“And Dorian?”

“Peered in a while ago. He made an irritated hissing noise like some sort of judgmental tea kettle. Then he wandered off somewhere.”

Maevaris sighed quietly. She needed coffee and she needed her dining room reassembled.

“If you’re going to yell at Anders, can I watch?” Lysander asked, glancing up at last.

“I would hardly yell at Anders, but I’d appreciate you leaving so I can eat without…” She gestured to the table. “This.”

It took them several minutes to leave the room, but in fairness, they could hardly leave without finishing their current projects or at least reaching a decent stopping point. Thanos had been in the middle of an alchemical procedure. Lysander, who loudly declared he’d been planning on taking a cigarette break anyway, moved like a turtle as he cleaned. No doubt in order to be difficult.

Poor Valarien had no particular reason to linger. And he seemed defeated. He was used to being good at whatever he set his mind to. Or, perhaps more accurately, whatever he aimed a fist at. But learning to make elixirs, tonics, and such was hardly the same as feats of practical magic or physical strength.

“Oh come now. You’re not the first or last mage to be rather dismal at potions,” she gently pointed out. “At your age and with your inclinations, it’s to be expected. So chin up, dear. You’re not going to be abandoned in the woods anytime soon. Or left in a remote location to forage for supplies while battling the elements. Yes, you ought to learn potions and you will. But you have to tell me these things. Had I known you were having a problem—”

“I hadn’t practiced. I should have, but I didn’t and...”

Maevaris patted his shoulder. “We’ll get it sorted.”

“And it’ll be green? The potion, I mean.”

“Yes, and even if you can’t realistically learn as much as the others, you’ll be able to manage to advance to lyrium potions. That’s about all I can do, you know.”

“Really?”

“Well, I could make the rest,” Maevaris admitted, “but I find it easier to buy them. The ingredients and the methods are time-consuming.”

“The rest,” Anders pointed out with a wounded air. “I can easily make for you.”

“And me as well?” Lysander asked.

“No. Maevaris and Valarien. You’re to learn on your own.”

“Why?”

“Because you can do it on your own.”

“And Thanos?”

“I don’t want anyone to make my potions for me,” Thanos said. He’d been clearing off a spot on the table before. “And if I can make the more exotic types, it’s an easy way to earn a bit of coin.”

Valarien considered this and sighed. “All right. I guess I’ll just… Practice.” He handed his failed potion to Anders and brought a plate of food over for Maevaris. And then coffee.

“Thank you,” Maevaris said, pouring herself a generous cup of coffee before sitting down. “Now go do something else for an hour or so.”

The boys left. Lysander scowling but waiting for the other two as Thanos tugged Valarien along. She imagined that they would work on potions together, which would be good for all three of them. It could only strengthen their friendship, which would benefit all three as well. Particularly Thanos who had no other means of possessing connections such as the ones Lysander or Valarien had. This was not to say that Thanos was in any way calculating or would have bothered befriending the other boys if he didn’t like them, but it never hurt to have friends in high places.

Anders examined the vial. He moved over to where the boys had put their supplies and equipment. He added something blue and something purple to the concoction. It fizzled, turning a bright orange. Then he poured the potion into a plant pot near the large bay windows.

“Are you killing my Hessarian’s Sword?” Maevaris asked.

“You mean your Snake Plant?”

“I know what I mean.”

“Oh, this won’t harm it. If anything it’ll help it grow. Or perhaps flower.”

“It’s not supposed to do that.”

Anders smiled sheepishly. “Well, magic makes many things possible.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes.

Anders sat down next to her. He put the empty vial on the table and laughed when she shoved it away. “It’s harmless, Maevaris.”

“I’m not a houseplant in need of some blooms,” she pointed out, satisfied only when the vial rolled off the table and onto the floor. Then she took a few moments to actually eat some food.

“Is this where you yell at me?”

“Of course not, Anders. And it’s not precisely that I object to this sort of thing.”

“But you do.”

“Slightly,” she admitted, having some of her toast. “I eat breakfast here. Am eating breakfast here. Still, it’s nice to see you helping them.”

“Two of them hardly need it and one of them…” Anders shook his head. “But it’ll get sorted. I’ve had worse assistants.”

“At your clinic?”

“Yes, and only for weeks at a time. I might have kept them for longer were it possible, but Kirkwall was not a safe place for any mage, young or old.”

“It’s a little hard for me to picture. I’ve heard, of course, about all the rites templars have at their disposal. Their skills and their lyrium usage. It all seems absurdly reprehensible.”

“It was. There is so much they can do to us and all of it sanctioned by the Chantry. Hardly the proper topic for breakfast, however.”

“True. What shall we discuss?”

“I was wondering when we leave for Minrathous.”

“Less than a week. I should like to at least stay for Thanos’ opera trip. Or at least to hear—” There was a loud clatter coming from the direction of the main entrance. Then a thud and some choice swear words. “Maker’s Sake.” She got to her feet and headed out of the room and down the hall.

*

Next to the door, a young man that she didn’t recognize was pinned against a wall by Valarien’s spirit blades. His lip was bloody. And the door itself was teetering off of its hinges.

Lysander was getting to his feet with Thanos’ help, his left eye and cheek already bruised.

“Stop, Valarien,” Maevaris commanded as she watched her student advance on the new arrival. She moved past him and to the other boy. “What is going on here? Who are you?”

“Altus Gavin Imbrex,” the boy said, spitting blood onto her marble floor. “Apprentice to Magister Halward Pavus and what this about is that one,” he added, pulling a hand free and pointing at Thanos. “My sisters aren’t going anywhere with a Laetan. Don’t care what sort of friends he has vouching for him.”

“You thought to settle the matter by beating down my front door and clobbering my students? I’m not sure what Magister Halward Pavus thinks of this sort of behavior, boy,” she said. 

Maevaris could easily afford to be indifferent to his title. She knew of his House and its unimportance. The boy was only just Altus. His father had moved up in the world through an arranged third marriage. “I cannot imagine he could condone it, but I also do not care. You are in my house, and I for one believe that it hardly matters what class you’re from if you behave like a feral Qunari.”

“My sisters—”

“Are counting their blessings that they don’t become half as foolish as their brother,” Maevaris said, waving a hand to remove the lingering effects of Valarien’s spell. She crossed her arms as Gavin Imbrex fell rather clumsily down to the floor. “And they will be sorry indeed to learn they aren’t going anywhere with anyone in the foreseeable future. Get up.”

“Magister Tilani—”

“Oh, so you do know whose house you picked for throwing an overly dramatic tantrum in. Go back to the Pavus estate and stay there. I should like for you to be present when I speak to your mentor. Such as he is.” She held up a hand when the boy tried to say something. “Don’t bother defending him or yourself. I won’t have it. You viciously, crassly, and clumsily attacked my students. That is scarcely the way in which an Altus conducts himself. Get up and get out. Now.”

Gavin Imbrex scrambled to his feet. He glanced at Lysander in satisfaction and then at Thanos, dismayed that there wasn’t a scratch on him. Then he dashed out.

“Should I follow him, mistress?” Nicolae asked, standing suddenly at her side. He had a rogue’s knack for appearing seemingly out of thin air.

His ears were pressed back slightly, flattened. He seemed torn between concern for what had happened and for his failure to prevent it. As if she hadn’t told him time and time again to duck out of the way when angry guests paid her a visit.  
She wondered if that would change if or when she freed him. Because it seemed sometimes that this worry was only because she could do anything to him on a whim or if the mood struck her. She never had, but she could and she was hardly Nicolae’s first mistress. And she didn’t have to be his last.

“No harm came to you?”

“No, mistress.”

“Then yes. Please follow young Imbrex, but at a discreet distance. Then inform whoever answers Magister Pavus’ front door that I will be visiting him shortly.”

Nicolae nodded and headed outside.

Anders was already working on healing Lysander’s rather puffy face.

“I feel as if I should say I’m sorry,” Thanos mumbled. He was wringing his hands quite a bit, but he stopped when Maevaris placed a hand on one shoulder.

“Hardly your fault,” Lysander said, sounding as if he’d swallowed a dozen marbles. He was blinking a great deal. Eventually he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair that one of the servants had brought to him. “That one might have done worse to you.”

“Yes, well, he didn’t,” Valarien pointed out. He was staring at the floor and pacing the room. Eventually he fished a dagger out from under a hat rack, holding it aloft. “He brought this with him.”

“Put that down at once,” Maevaris insisted.

“Oh, it’s not poisoned,” Valarien said with a casual shrug. “It’s just the thing people do in situations like this.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Anders pointed out. “Dangerous and reckless.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t trying to kill anyone,” Valarien argued. “I think he was just trying to frighten Thanos. Not sure why he figured he could come in the front door and not attract more attention, but then I don’t usually understand why stupid people behave stupidly.”

“I’m not frightened,” Thanos insisted. “Irritated and concerned perhaps. All this fuss when all they had to do was send a note or feign an illness.”

“Very unsavory solution,” Lysander mused. He seemed a bit sleepy.

“Are you all right, dear?” Maevaris asked, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Well enough. Was better before but… I suppose that’s rather obvious.”

“Rather,” she agreed, patting his shoulder.

“There,” Anders said, moving his hands away from the left side of Lysander’s face. “You just sit still and keep your eyes open. You’ll be fine in a moment. There will be some marginal bruising and lingering disorientation but nothing else.”

“Righto,” Lysander muttered, saluting sloppily. He smirked, glancing at Thanos. “Oh, please. Worrying about me is so very pathetic of you. I’ve been hit harder and you know it.”

“I suppose.”

“What a buffoon,” Lysander continued, biting back a yawn. “Turned me right off his sisters, I must say. And I think we dodged a quiver full of arrows by not having to take those girls anywhere at all.”

“A safe assumption,” Thanos wryly agreed.

“You still want me to take you to the opera, old man?”

“Not really.”

“Good. We’ll play darts instead. Billiards if you like.”

“I miss a great deal of things when I skip out on breakfast,” Dorian noted as he considered them all. “I think I shall endeavor to do so more often.”

*

Her students left, presumably to go do something either in their rooms or the gardens. Anywhere further away from the front door, which was rather amusing. Or it might have been if Maevaris hadn’t been so very angry.

Dorian sighed once he’d been informed of what had happened. “Do you want me to go with?” he asked. “I haven’t seen my father in ages but I’d be willing to accompany you.”

“I’ll go myself,” Maevaris said.

“Bless you,” Dorian said, kissing her cheek. “And best of luck.”

“Oh please. He’s hardly going to defend Imbrex.”

“Perhaps not although… He can be a bit contrary.”

“Hm,” Maevaris said with a small smirk. Dorian was often the same way, but in Dorian it was sort of a charming quality. “I’d be obliged if you’d monitor Lysander. And the others as well.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother. I’ll keep your ducks in a row.”

“Does he have to do that?” Anders asked when Dorian had gone off in search of her students.

“Do what?”

Anders tapped his cheek.

Maevaris laughed. “I don’t think he has to but he does. You can’t be jealous.”

“Not jealous. Not exactly.” But Anders still leaned in to kiss her in the same spot that Dorian had. Then he kissed her lips for good measure, tugging her closer.

She kissed him back before resting her head against his shoulder. And she considered telling him just how much she wasn’t Dorian’s type, but it wasn’t entirely her place to share something so personal or private.

“Thank you, but you’re staying home too,” she said, glancing up and chuckling at how unhappy he looked.

“Must I?”

“You must.”

“That’s rather unfair.”

“You’ll manage,” she promised him. And she let him hold onto her until Nicolae came back. Then she headed off to visit Halward Pavus.

*

She wasn’t entirely surprised when Halward was standing beside his front door. He was in dark robes fringed with gold. His gloved hands were clasped behind his back. He seemed pensive and perhaps a tad disappointed.

“Hello, Halward.” There were of the same rank and practically neighbors so there was no need to be overly formal.

“Hello, Maevaris. Come in, please.”

She let a servant take her cloak as Halward led her into his study. The walls were lined with books and so were the window sills. They were in some sort of order that made sense to him and probably to Dorian as well.

“Would you care for a drink?”

“Arrack if you have it.”

Halward smiled thinly pouring them both some. He handed her a tumbler, gesturing to an armchair. He sat down across from her only after Maevaris was situated.

“I suspect it’s obvious that I know what you’ve come here to discuss,” Halward said. “I will not object to hearing your grievances, but I feel it only right to apologize immediately for my apprentice.”

“Thank you,” Maevaris said, unsurprised. Dorian believed his father to be far more contrary than the man actually was. After all, it was one thing to feel a certain way about Laetans, and it was another to do something so utterly unpleasant without any provocation whatsoever.

“You may wish to give this back to him,” she added, handing over the boy’s dagger. It was, truth be told, a rather unremarkable, dull weapon. The sort used for harvesting elfroot rather than hand-to-hand combat.

Halward sighed heavily, taking the dagger and setting it down on the desk behind him. “I don’t know where he learned to behave this way,” he said. “It is as if he never outgrew some childish notion of what it means to be Altus. Perhaps the boy is an imbecile. However, that is beside the point. I trust that no one is too badly hurt?”

“A black eye, but it’s already healing. I’ll most likely need a new front door, but that’s not of particular concern.”

Halward sighed. He ran a hand through his hair before polishing off his drink. He placed the glass next to the dagger. “This matter ought to have been resolved through a simple discussion between Imbrex and Aurum. I am still debating what to do with the damned fool. I should prefer not to send him away, but if you ask it, I would have no choice but to dismiss him.”

“Not yet, but I might if he behaves in such a fashion again. Particularly if it’s while paying an unsolicited call to my estate.”

Halward chuckled, offering a smirk that reminded her a good deal of Dorian. “Rest assured he will not approach your property nor will he engage with your students. Now. I realize you didn’t come here for much more than this, but I must ask you something.”

“Oh?”

Halward steepled his fingers, leaning back in his chair. “How is my son?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you how he is?”

“The boy assumes I am unaware of his comings and goings, but I assure you… I am well-informed.”

“Then I trust these informants have told you he is staying in a guest room and reading most of his time. Not to mention sleeping in far too much. A bit lazy, your son, but he is a very welcome guest.”

Halward regarded her, lips curving into a rather wry expression. “I suppose he is. I appreciate, as I always do, your making allowances for Dorian.”

“It is hardly a burden for me.”

But Maevaris knew that her fondness for Dorian and his for her was not something Halward or his wife approved of. They had seemed eager enough in the beginning when Dorian had been the sort of little boy who followed her around her gardens like an overzealous and sometimes monstrous busy bee.

As Dorian had grown up, he’d continued to follow her about, but it had been an innocent sort of shadowing. One that was more based on a need to be wanted somewhere than something as mundane and precious as a childhood crush. What they had was a rather nice friendship that pleased the pair of them, but his parents had hoped that their relationship would turn into some sort of scandalously ill-advised and awkward affair necessitating, if not requiring, marriage.

An Altus Magister from a solitary yet powerful House marrying an Altus Scion of a younger but well-reputed House would have been a wedding for the ages. They had, of course, overlooked the fact Dorian was a much younger man with an obvious preference for the same. Then again, Dorian’s preferences never seemed to matter much to either of his parents.

“He ought to come home,” Halward said with a sigh. “He ought to be spending his breaks with us, not you.”

“I understand. However, were Magister Alexius at home, I wouldn’t be seeing much of Dorian either,” Maevaris pointed out.  
“It is not that I disapprove of his preference for you in of itself,” Halward said. “But you must imagine how it looks for a young man his age to spend so much time with an older woman who is constantly entertaining suitors.”

Maevaris sipped her drink, keeping herself from pointing out that perhaps it simply looked like the boy was seeking out a replacement for his mother. Everyone knew the woman was living in her own apartments in Vol Dorma. That she hardly, if ever, saw her husband or her son. That if the Chantry would have allowed it, Halward would have separated from her a decade ago. But saying so was unkind. And a bit unfair.

“I should think it doesn’t look like much of anything,” she said at last. “But then I don’t have much of an imagination where Dorian and I are concerned. As for how Dorian is, I would say well. He’s specializing in necromancy.”

Halward made a face. “Maker’s Breath.”

Maevaris chuckled. “Well, seeing as the Maker made him as he is, we should assume they both know what they’re doing until proven otherwise.”

“I suppose we shall.” Halward eyed her thoughtfully. “You’re not considering him then.”

“I consider your son to be a dear friend, and that is all. Of course not.”

“I almost wish you were.”

“I know,” Maevaris said gently. She reached over and patted Halward’s hand. “Can I ask you something?”

Halward had been staring at her hand. He glanced up and shrugged. “Certainly.”

“How are you?”

There was a lengthy pause. She could have taken her carriage home and back again during it. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said.

Lonely, she thought. Poor thing. Resigned to the fact that his wife wouldn’t come home. Afraid that his son never would either. 

“You know,” she said, “there’s no reason why you shouldn’t stop by and see Dorian. You can come to dinner, if you like. Just don’t punch anyone in the face.”

Halward smiled slightly. Then he shook his head and rose to his feet. “I think there are reasons. I will allow him his space, and see him at some point soon. I appreciate the offer and your willingness to overlook my apprentice’s behavior, but don’t let me keep you.”

He turned to the desk, putting the dagger into a drawer. After that, he began reorganizing papers that he’d obviously shuffled and sorted earlier in the day.

Proud and stubborn. She’d nearly forgotten that. He’d probably invite himself to Alexius’ but he wouldn’t dare visit her estate. Not when Dorian had gone to her instead of coming home.

“Of course,” she said, rising to her feet as well. She set her empty tumbler down on the desk. “Take care of yourself, Halward.” 

It was bit of a relief to leave, really. Outside she inhaled and exhaled deeply. The air inside the house had seemed rather stale.

*

Back at her manor, Maevaris made the rounds to each of her student’s rooms, not too surprised when they ended up being in her dining room working on potions yet again.

“Everything’s sorted,” she announced to the room at large. “There’s been no more odd visitors, I trust?”

“None whatsoever,” Lysander cheerfully observed. “And all seems to be well for the moment. Save for, well, the usual.” He gestured across the table where Valarien was cursing loudly at a beaker. The concoction inside of it was brown.

“I expect this table to be cleared off in an hour’s time for dinner.”

“In an hour, Anders is checking on our progress,” Thanos said.

“Dinner ought to wait,” Lysander agreed. “I mean, I think I’ve earned that much at least.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “Very well. Dinner will be in an hour and a half. And I had better not die during that meal due to improper disposal of lethal chemicals else I shall haunt you until the end of your days.”

“Fair enough.”

There was a piece of parchment pinned to Dorian’s door that stated he was busy practicing a series of spells and incantations and woe betide those who so much as knocked at his door. This was a message that Maevaris was quick to pass on to Phaeton who would tell other servants. Very few of them could read, and she did rather wish Dorian remembered that when he was working on something that might end up being dangerous.

She stopped in her own room, grabbing the journal she’d been meaning to give to Anders and making sure she looked as pristine as ever. She considered Thorold’s candle briefly before she left. Thank the Maker he’d been such a good fellow. Hard to replace and so easy to love. She couldn’t have stood it if she’d ended up like Halward Pavus.

Anders who had, thankfully, not spent an hour or more waiting for her just inside of the main entrance to her house, was working on some potions of his own.

“My dinner has to wait because of you,” Maevaris said, keeping the journal behind her back.

Anders glanced up. “Does it?”

“Yes, so you might as well do something with me.”

“I am feeling rather obligated,” he teased, setting down a beaker and blowing out a set of candles before striding over to her. “Is something the matter with your arms or have you got something for me?”

“It’s nothing major, but I thought you might need this,” Maevaris said, producing the journal.

It was rather plain. Just a simple brown leather-bound book, but then to her mind, the fancier the journal the less likely it was that anyone actually used it for fear of wasting its precious pages. Journals and writing implements were not like dresses or staves. Plain and practical was best.

“For your manifesto,” she explained when Anders didn’t take it from her. “Or whatever you’d like.”

Anders dutifully and rather solemnly took it from her.

“Honestly, it’s nothing,” she said.

“No, it’s something. You listen to me. You think about me. I’m rather unused to that,” he said, stroking the journal’s cover before setting it down on the table. He moved on to kissing her and then petting her cheek instead. “I really was terrible yesterday.”

“No, you were simply trying to spare me the only way you knew how.”

“It didn’t work.”

“Well, of course not. You’re nothing I wish to be spared from.”

“Nor are you,” Anders admitted, kissing her again. “Only now I’m faced with another problem.”

“Oh?”

“You get me a lot of things, and you’re constantly doing something for me. But what would you like?”

“Well,” Maevaris said, drawing him a bit closer, “you are a good start.”

“Besides me,” Anders wryly replied.

“Oh, surprise me. Honestly, anything but flowers would be wonderful. I’d love to be given a more unusual gift. Besides you.”

Anders chuckled. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! The next chapter should be a good deal sooner. Thank you, Tigercule, for the beta. And thank you to TCRegan and Bakaknight for looking this chapter over.
> 
> Also, in case anyone is curious, I decided on Hessarian's Blade being another name for a Snake Plant because another name for one is St. George's Sword. And Arrack is an distilled alcoholic drink from South/Southeast Asia.


	10. Chapter 10

*

The morning they were to leave for Minrathous, an angry rainstorm swept in, pouring down buckets of water onto anything and everything available.

Maevaris watched the rain slam down on her window panes, rocking the boughs of several young, flowering trees. She frowned in distaste. The weather really ought to have behaved itself. She wished, not for the first time, that the rumors in the South were accurate and a magister could have some control over nature rather than the other way around.

Despite the hideous, constant downpour, Dorian had left her for Gereon Alexius. But then so had her students. They’d be spending time with Dorian and Felix. They would also be learning from-- or at least being civil to-- Lady Alexius. It was a much better plan than allowing the boys to run amok at home.

There was a knock on her door, and despite her inclinations to sulk alone until the sun came back, she said: “Come in.”

“Mistress.”

“Oh, hello, Phaeton.” Maevaris turned to regard him.

“I had hoped to speak with you,” Phaeton said. “Only time did not permit it, but I felt perhaps I ought to take advantage of this temporary setback.”

“One hopes it’s only temporary.”

“One does although one notes it is that time of year.”

“One still sighs,” Maevaris said with a small shrug. “So what is it?” she added in a gentler tone. She imagined it was personal or family-related. Phaeton was not usually so reluctant to address certain issues.

“There’s… I doubt she’s right, but my wife has this…inkling,” Phaeton said, his tone indicating how he felt about intuitive takes on any given situation. “About Renna. Our youngest.”

“Oh?”

“She might… That is…”

Maevaris moved closer to him. “Phaeton, honestly, you know how much I dislike this sort of thing.” It was why she so constantly wished he’d agree to allow his family to become Liberati. He could keep his position, and he could do better for himself. And perhaps he could meet her gaze more often. The way he used to before she’d inherited the manor. “You don’t have to mince words with me.”

“Might be that she can do magic,” Phaeton said gruffly. “Only it’s not a might. And it’s not an inkling. I suspect it is a fact. I couldn’t tell you how long this has been going on because I’ve no idea. I’m not sure what Decima imagined I’d do. Report directly to you, but then… why not?”

There were many points of contention between Phaeton and Decima. Their freedom was one. Their children’s futures were another.

Decima had been Dalish originally with a rather more complicated name. Maevaris had bought her off of a drunken, lecherous lout who had been trying and failing to beat her on their way home. He regretted it at some point after lamenting his decision to drink so heavily. But he wasn’t a magister, and there was nothing he could do about it by the time he turned up at Maevaris’ home.

Like many other elves, Decima did not feel any particular need for gratitude or even so much as a kind word for the woman who had rescued her. And although acts of mercy were well and good, the elf was a considerable burden at first. Maevaris could easily afford to support far more slaves than she would ever need, but the fact was Maevaris had little use for the elf.

Even without a surly demeanor, Maevaris did not need a female servant. But because of Decima’s attitude, justified or no, the options were limited. Someone who was so very angry couldn’t be trusted in the kitchens. Someone who disliked her so very plainly could not be put in charge of Maevaris’ household. And when Decima had been allowed to tend the gardens, she’d butchered most of the roses.

She’d stood there in the middle of all the petals, thorns, and trampled flowers. She’d been breathing hard, expecting a fight. Thorold had eventually gone out to the girl. When he came back in from the gardens, he suggested that he could find the girl something to do besides make a mess.

Decima had worked for a time in the stables, keeping her anger in check and tending to the horses in a kindly way. It worked as well as it could with Thorold around. Things rather fell apart when Maevaris was given Nicolae who didn’t have the same sort of chip on his shoulders. It was nothing short of bewildering when Phaeton asked permission to marry Decima. Even more so seeing as a very sullen Decima had agreed.

It had been also been rather irritating because if there was one thing Maevaris had been hoping for, it was a reason to be free of the elf woman. Not stuck with her for the foreseeable future.

The worst part of Decima, however, and the part that made Maevaris absolutely furious, was that she remained the reason why Phaeton turned down his freedom time and time again. Not because Decima didn’t want it, but because there was no telling what she’d do once she had it.

“She’ll need to be trained,” Maevaris said, referring to Renna even as she thought long and hard about the girl's mother.

“By you?”

“In time and if that’s your preference,” Maevaris said. “She’s too young though to be trained by me just yet. I should think a Circle would be best. Difficult, of course, but I think she would do well in Vyrantium. She’s a bright girl.”

“And the rest of us?”

Maevaris sighed, hesitating and then lightly touching Phaeton’s shoulder. She did not touch him often. She had as a child. She’d take his hand in hers or tug on his tunic. But the older she got, the less she reached out for him. And once she understood certain things… It didn’t seem right. “If I don’t make you Liberati…”

“I know. But the job stays? The cottage?”

The parts he actually liked. “Of course,” Maevaris assured him. “Or a bigger house if you like. You’ll have wages and a considerable sum at that. You’re very important.”

Phaeton snorted. “To you maybe.”

“Of course to me," she said firmly, pleased when he smiled ever so slightly. "Do you need me to speak to Decima?”

“Not just yet. I can tell her what we discussed and… When you’re back perhaps we can get some of this settled. If time permits, of course.”

“I don’t need to go. I can send a proxy, Phaeton.”

He shook his head. “Appearances are all we have at times,” he said, looking away. “You can’t send a proxy any more than you can keep me a slave.”

“I never wanted to.”

“I know. Took you ages to understand the concept, as I recall.”

“I’m a bit of a slow learner when it comes to most things. That said, if there is anything I can do—”

Phaeton laughed, glancing at her. “I know I’ll get anything I need already. It’s not as if we’re meeting for the first time today, Maevaris. I’ve only lived with you for your entire life or thereabouts.”

“Not by choice.”

“I think at some point that’s what it became, but I suppose that’s not exactly how it works,” Phaeton mused. “And I ought to be free. See what that’s like. It would be good for the little ones.”

His boys were hardly little at this point even if Renna was, but Maevaris supposed a father never thought of his children as grown up. “They’ll be able to find apprenticeships easily enough.”

“Right.”

Maevaris worried at her lip as she looked at him. She wished, well, she wished they were just friends. That she could just hug him without worrying that wasn’t at all what he wanted.

“What’s wrong?”

“When and if you’re leaving, will there be some sort of warning? Say, two weeks’ notice? I only ask because you’ll need a reference.”

Phaeton chuckled. “Where am I going?”

“Anywhere,” Maevaris pointed out. “Freedom doesn’t mean you just do the same thing you were doing already. You could become… a pirate or a mercenary, perhaps.”

“Freedom means changes, certainly… But I’m not sure freedom means suddenly living life with reckless abandon. I’m not interested in that. I’ve children to support. And a wife. And a decent employer.”

Maevaris laughed. “Your employer’s decent, is she?”

Phaeton smirked thinly. “Tolerable too. Pays well. Or so I’ve been told.”

“She’d better.”

Phaeton left her shortly after that, offering to bring her coffee. She told him not to bother with that and instead to speak to his wife. Between the two of them, and while Maevaris was in Minrathous, they were to come up with a contract. Their Liberati status would be made official upon Maevaris’ return.

The rain was still in full force when she glanced back outside, but she felt a little better.

*

Anders’ door was slightly ajar once she got around to tracking him down. She knocked just the same and entered. He was staring out the window, much as she’d been doing, but he seemed tense.

“Staring at the clouds won’t make them change their collective minds. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I suppose not,” he admitted. “Why do you have a basket?”

“You didn’t come to lunch as I’m making lunch come to you. Although I couldn’t quite manage the coffee so someone will bring that here. Clear off your desk, please.”

Anders snorted, but moved to obey her. He gathered up papers and his journal, putting them on a bookshelf.

By then, Junia –one of the women Horatio had brought her—was bringing in their coffee and cookies. She set them down on a side table and curtsied only slightly as she left them. This was a marked improvement from the strange, deep bows Maevaris had become accustomed to. Thank the Maker for small miracles.

Anders watched Maevaris spread out a small tablecloth before setting down plates of food. 

“You know… This is probably why I don’t go to lunch.”

“Don’t blame me,” Maevaris insisted. “You and eating have a very strained relationship. I’m just attempting to aid in a joint reconciliation.”

“Were you going to wear that for the carriage ride?”

Maevaris paused. She raised an eyebrow and inspected her ensemble. She was wearing a long-sleeved, leather dark blue gown. There were silver embroidered flowers along the skirt. Her rings and earrings were silver, and her boots were the same. “Well, I didn’t think I’d go to too much trouble seeing as I’d be wearing a cloak over it.”

“No, I… It’s just you never wear the same dress twice and—”

Maevaris laughed. “I certainly do. You’re just new, Anders.”

“I’m not new,” Anders insisted. “Even if I was, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ish then. You’re newish,” Maevaris said with a reassuring smile. “At any rate, you haven’t seen the same outfits cycle through yet. You won’t for quite some time. I don’t repeat myself during the course of a season.”

“But some of them will be back?”

“Yes, of course. Although perhaps not as often. I can’t have you thinking I’m dull.”

“I can’t imagine that,” Anders wryly replied. “Would you consider repeating yourself if the reason was compelling?”

“I should think that depends,” Maevaris said, more than a little amused. “Are there specific ones you would like to see again?”

“I’ve…” Anders shrugged, looking sheepish. “I might be making a list.”

That was rather adorable. She moved over to him and kissed his cheek. “Get a chair for yourself and then let’s eat.”

“Very well.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Maevaris added, sitting down at the desk.

“Which is?”

“You’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you.”

Anders smiled. “There’s no reason to be very concerned. I have nowhere to go for one thing.” 

“How very flattering,” Maevaris murmured. “And for another?”

“At the moment, there’s nothing that needs running away from. I think it would be nice not to have to. Run, I mean.”

“Well, of course. It’s not as if the act is of choice so much as desperation. You’ve been running away with nothing to run towards.”

“It became rather my default mode of coping,” Anders agreed, sounding apologetic. “So we’ll leave for Minrathous tomorrow then?”

“Provided the rain moves on to claim other victims.”

“When we’re back… I was thinking of contacting old friends. If it is all right with you, I’d like to tell them where I am.”

“And these are old, actual friends of yours?”

Anders winced.

She reached across the desk and patted his hand. “That’s… Anders, I’m not trying to make any sort of judgment about you. Honestly, if anything I’m annoyed with them. There is nothing worse than fair weather companions. And I feel as if your previous batch of friends had become jailors of a sort. Keepers of whatever guilt you were meant to keep chained around your neck like an anchor. Perhaps that wasn’t their intention, but that’s what happened.”

“How can you know this if they didn’t and I… I don’t think I did either.”

“An outsider’s perspective. And a fondness for you. I’m a bit protective of people I care about.”

“That must make things awkward considering Varric.”

“Hardly. He’s family. I don’t think he’s always right about people, but that doesn’t mean I suddenly loathe him. Then again,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I think he ought to grow a proper beard and of course he won’t so I’ve accepted that he’s a bit stupid.”

Anders snorted.

“Regardless, I don’t abandon people if and when they’re wrong. I find that sort of fickle loyalty utterly offensive.”

“You never change your mind about people?”

“Not until they make it impossible for me to maintain a positive, good opinion of them.” 

“For example?”

Maevaris sighed, considering him. “You won’t like it.”

Anders frowned.

“After all, a friend is hardly worth remaining faithful to if they try to poison you.”

Anders’ frown increased significantly.

“That was ages ago. We were thirteen and the girl was a twit. I was doing better than she was in terms of spells so she thought a little magebane in my tea would be amusing.”

“Did you…”

“Oh no,” Maevaris insisted. “She was far from subtle and Phaeton has always been excellent at his various jobs. I think he might have done away with her and buried her in the garden if my father hadn’t been there.”

“What happened to her?”

“A happy marriage with six children,” Maevaris said somewhat wistfully, “or so I’ve heard. She has a tendency towards blood magic, but she was always terrible at any proper school.”

“No more poisonings?”

“No. Bit of a shut-in thanks to a series of scandals.”

“Dare I ask?”

Maevaris smirked as she went back to sipping her coffee. “Her husband prefers Qunari men. And not the slaves either. He ran off with one. Might have converted.”

“You’re far too cheerful about this,” Anders said, sounding pleased rather than disappointed.

“Well, you know what they say about a revenge served cold.”

“So… That sort of thing happens here as well?”

“And often, I should think. Humans can’t just pair off with other humans. What a tedious world that would be.”

“No, no. That should obviously happen,” Anders said. “I meant the whole preferring Qunari business.”

Maevaris laughed. “Fights and battles and wars breed forbidden romances. But I certainly don’t prefer them.”

“Dwarves then?”

“No, it’s not as complicated as all that. Suffice it to say, I prefer the company of people that interest me.”

Anders smiled. “And so far I’m doing just that without a full beard? Because I don’t think I want one.”

Maevaris grinned. “So far, you’re doing just fine.”

*

The next day, the skies remained overcast, but rain did not seem to be forthcoming. Maevaris waited, however, for Nicolae to find her at breakfast and to tell her he thought it was safe to travel. He would be driving, after all, and she wasn’t one of those people who felt her drivers were replaceable and interchangeable. 

She wondered if anyone in Qarinus had set off the day before. She suspected a handful had. Halward would wait. Probably less out of sentimentality than practicality and –what seemed to be everyone’s favorite reason for doing anything in Tevinter— the sake of keeping up appearances.

For the first portion of their ride, Maevaris had selected a sleeveless lavender dress. Over it, she wore a dark purple velvet jacket. The jacket had long sleeves, and triangular edges that were lined in gold dragons and tapered off into tiny gold tassels. Her boots were of golden nug hide, an expensive and rather extravagant purchase, and she decided against earrings and rings.

“That is remarkably unfair of you,” Anders had said as he joined her for breakfast.

He sat down next to her, satisfied with what he’d been given. Maevaris, however, felt that Anders’ meal was rather sad, all told. Just two pieces of dry toast and very black coffee.

“Beg pardon?” Maevaris asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she was eating a second cinnamon apple scone. Or that she’d been adding extra frosting to it.

“You. Looking like that.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Only when I have to sit across from you for hours on end.”

Maevaris nibbled on her scone as he watched her. She chewed daintily and swallowed just as elegantly. “Well,” she said at last, “you could sit next to me. Much like you are now.”

“Does that solve my problem?”

“You’ll behave. Part of courting is being a proper gentleman.”

Anders shook his head. “It is odd though.”

“Behaving one’s self?”

Anders laughed. “No, I meant that you manage to make clothes so very appealing. I’m used to Ferelden and Kirkwall. Most women there seem to feel they ought to wear very little to wear in order to be alluring.”

Maevaris raised an eyebrow, feeling a little conflicted. “I’m not sure that really a compliment. For me, I mean.” 

She might have added more, but discussing what it might be like if she wore less or nothing at all… Well, it made her feel slightly ill-at-ease. She wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable. She knew it didn’t suit her. She knew there was no need for it. She was who she was, and she liked who she was. And there was nothing wrong with that. Only…

Anders, bless him, seemed to pick up on how she was feeling if not the precise reason for it. “It was meant to be complimentary to you,” he assured her. “I like the way you dress, and I like how you look. I suspect some of that is because I’m fond of you, but you’re very stylish. And honestly that’s not something I notice. Considering my ragamuffin-scarecrow approach to chic.”

Maevaris smiled slightly.

“I can be a gentleman,” Anders promised, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. “On and off a carriage. If I can figure out how to keep from distressing you, at any rate.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“You’ve got this cornered look,” he said gently and without correcting her. She appreciated that. “I don’t like making you feel that way.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

Anders nodded, running his fingers over the back of her hand even as he went back to eating his toast. “If the nothing you’re worried about manifests into something, we should discuss it.”

 _We will_ , Maevaris glumly thought to herself.

*

Offering a silent farewell to her garden, not to mention breathing in some much-needed fresh air, cheered Maevaris up well enough. She let Anders help her up into the coach and patted the seat next to him once he was inside.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been in one of these,” Anders mused, glancing around.

The interior walls of the coach were a soft pale blue with silver stenciling along the edges of the roof. The cushions of the seats were padded silk and the rest of the seats were made up of silver and blue brocade. Pale blue and tasseled curtains hung neatly above the windows that stretched out over the sides of the carriage.

“Please don’t tell me you own more than one,” he said after a moment.

She laughed. “Why would I need more than one?”

Another carriage would be coming in the afternoon to fetch poor Renna. She would, for the time being, be staying with the Alexius’. Upon Maevaris’ return, she would have to speak to Decima about arranging for the girl to attend a proper Circle. For the time being, the girl would be near her parents but under proper, appropriate supervision.

Anders considered this and shook his head. “So I’m to believe there’s some level of practicality to this sort of extravagance?”

“I can endeavor to be more practical if you’re concerned.”

Anders shook his head. “It’s just a lot to get used to.”

“As long as you’re not going to segue into some tedious discussion about how ill-suited you are for me,” Maevaris said, yawning. She leaned against Anders as Nicolae checked the carriage doors before moving up to the horses.

“If I say it too often, you might come to believe it’s true.”

“Never,” Maevaris insisted, kissing his cheek. “I don’t believe in any sort of nonsense simply because it’s repeated often enough.”

“Either way, I think I’d prefer not to lecture you.”

Maevaris smiled. “Is that so?”

“Yes, there’s quite a few other things I’d rather do when you’re sitting right next to me,” Anders murmured, brushing a hand over her cheek. “Would you care to try some?”

Maevaris laughed then returned the kiss he gave her. “In this outfit?” she asked before he kissed her again, this time on her lips.

“Any of the ones I’ve seen so far.”

The carriage began to move and Maevaris shook her head as Anders ducked his down in order to kiss her neck. “Anders… You’re supposed to behave, you know.”

Anders looked up, brushing a finger over the spot on her neck where his lips had been. “And if I wasn’t behaving? _You’d_ know,” Anders assured her with a slight smirk. “You wouldn’t be sitting besides me for one thing. And really you ought to let me be something not at all like a gentleman to you at some point.”

“Because?”

“It requires a very hands-on demonstration.”

Maevaris raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she asked.

“A lightning trick,” Anders explained. “Don’t worry. Someday I’ll show you. For now… Let’s find a new topic. Do you think Phaeton will have things worked out by the time you come home?”

“For his daughter’s sake, I should hope so.”

“She really gets to stay close to home,” Anders repeated and not for the first time that day.

“She does,” Maevaris quietly agreed. “But not at home. Perhaps if I was staying, but I can’t. I have no desire to become one of those magisters who shirks responsibilities. And I’m hopeful we’ll actually make some progress on finding ways to pay for more work to be done on the Imperial Highway. Such as it is.”

“Bit of a mess?”

“Oh yes. In many ways. And now,” Maevaris said, yawning again, “I am going to take a very practical nap.” She closed her eyes and curled up closer to him.

“Is this a test?” Anders asked curiously. “Because if it is, you’re going to have to tell me what you want me to do in order to pass it. My idea of success and yours might not be the same.”

Maevaris chuckled. “It’s not a test. I am simply taking a nap. And you’re to behave.”

Anders put an arm around her and kissed her hair. “Oh, very well,” he said, sounding cheerful and not as all despondent as she might have preferred.

Maevaris opened her eyes, glancing up at him. “You brought books with, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Hm. I suppose I appreciate a man who can entertain himself from time to time.”

“But not all of the time?”

Maevaris laughed before closing her eyes again. “No one appreciates that.”

*

The carriage lurched to a stop, and Maevaris woke up to find she’d all but taken over the seat as if it were a small, cozy bed. She was covered in Anders’ coat and his hand was pressed lightly to the small of her back. Meanwhile, her head was resting against one of Anders’ thighs, and she tried to ignore how warm he was.

Anders was dismissing a small orange wisp when she glanced at him. He closed the book he’d been reading, frowning. “Horses,” he said, listening for something as the horses outside made rather startled sounds. “Other than ours, I mean. I think… either they’re armored mounts or whoever is riding them is in armor.”

Maevaris sighed, sitting up. “Bandits then.”

“Nicolae—”

“Knows what to do. He’s stopped the carriage and by now he’ll be running off to hide. No one stops a carriage like this for an elf.”

“Is he supposed to?”

“It’s what I prefer,” Maevaris said, getting to her feet. “Fights like this get messy.”

“Could I handle it?”

“Hm?”

“The fight. Could I… It’s just… It’s been ages and it seems to me that it might be a vaguely gentlemanly thing to do.”

Maevaris took a moment to mull this over. She had gotten rather used to handling these matters on her own, and she had no issue doing so again. And yet she couldn’t remember the last time a man she actually liked had offered to do the dirty work for her. And yet she enjoyed a good brawl.

She sighed, considering her attire and what would happen to it. They weren’t in Minrathous yet and chances are the place they were in was a bit muddy from all of the rain the day before. “I suppose that all depends,” she said. “Was this dress on your list?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t kill them unless provoked?”

“…I suppose?”

“I only care,” Maevaris said, smoothing down the collar of Anders’ tunic, “because as a Magister I have to sanction your kills.”

“I see. All right. I’ll wait for them to provoke me. That shouldn’t take very long. Anything else?”

“I get to help or rather you get to help me. After all, it isn’t very gentlemanly to steal a fight out from under me, now is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Anders admitted.

“Good,” she said, kissing him and then putting barriers over both of them. “After you then.”

Anders slammed the carriage door open, hopping down and then waiting for her. “See? I’ll get the hang of this gentleman business in no time.”

“So far, so good,” she said, letting him help her down.

The group of bandits was a large one for this particular stretch of road. A dozen men altogether with two mules, no doubt for the luggage and other potential loot. They were wearing thin cloth masks and they all looked relatively the same with square jaws, short hair, and tattoos on the left side of their faces. In terms of other similarities, they all seemed to use mauls and axes. Good. She enjoyed fade-stepping around slower opponents.

“Surrendering then?” One asked as he got off of his horse. He was the only one with a broadsword and his mask was red instead of black, which likely made him the leader. “Smart lass. Give us your coins, and get lost. No need to make this harder than it has to be, eh?”

“Oh, you’re here to bother us then,” Maevaris said, offering up a genuine yawn. They had interrupted a perfectly lovely nap, after all. “I was wondering why we stopped.”

“Didn’t notice your elf run off? Bloody typical of you lot.”

“No, I think it’s safe to say that the only shame is that you didn’t follow suit.”

Two of the others got off their horses as well.

“Those are nice,” the first one said, indicating her boots. “Not as nice as you, but I need coin,” he said, pausing to spit at the ground. Just why he thought that was intimidating was beyond Maevaris’ understanding. At least, he’d avoided her boots. “We all do, love. So take ‘em off.”

“I’d prefer to keep them, thanks.”

“Either take them off,” the leader said loudly, “or I’ll take you with. Doesn’t hurt me any.”

The others laughed because, well, that’s what you did when you were a bandit. Or so Maevaris supposed. If she’d been a bandit, she’d have been a queen, and she would have told her people to try for more promising parts of the Highway. Then again, she still would have delegated this sort of business to these chuckling and spitting type of low-lives so perhaps they were going about their business the right way. On the other hand, they didn’t seem to have magebane on them, and they were taking on mages and Magisters by being this close to Qarinus. So perhaps they were just as stupid as they seemed.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Anders said with a small smirk. “But I’m feeling provoked.”

There was a loud whickering, and Maevaris glanced back at the carriage just in time to see it topple over. The horses had been released and were galloping away in, what she hoped would prove to be, Nicolae’s direction. She doubted it would be as easy as all that seeing as they were horses not bloodhounds, but she imagined by the end of this encounter, she’d have temporary replacements.

One of the largest bandits chuckled and smashed his axe into the door. Then he yelped as a fireball hit him. His friends, however, found this amusing not only because of the man’s howl of anguish but because the carriage was slightly on fire.

“Sorry,” Anders said, and he quickly put it out.

Then he cast more Inferno and Winter spells that had put things into perspective. And no one was laughing when his attacks were combined with Force spells and Spirit blades from Maevaris. As the fight continued, Anders and Maevaris put up barriers for each other whenever possible, but it didn’t last very long.

The leader of the bandits lingered rather cowardly towards the back of the group. He only managed to lose what little pride he had left before spitting on the ground again and sounding a retreat. The rest rode off after him, leaving four bodies behind. The poor-- if only in regards to monetary means-- chaps hadn’t even warranted a backwards glance.

Nor did they seem to warrant much respect because as soon as the bandits were riding away and the remaining horses had been tethered, Anders kissed her rather soundly. And Maevaris eagerly returned it, not really caring about the dead bodies relatively close to their feet.

“That was lovely,” she said cheerfully.

“It was rather… nice. In some respects,” Anders agreed.

“If I’d known you were so restless, I’d have suggested we spar. Or insist that you use the gymnasium.”

“That sounds promising too,” Anders admitted.

“When we’re home, we’ll do that,” Maevaris said, pleased with the idea. “I’m used to handling this sort of situation my own, but it was nice to have someone else around. _You_ around, I should say.”

Anders smiled. “Well, you really didn’t need my help,” he said, wincing as he considered the toppled carriage. “Or, rather, it’s highly possible you might have been better off without it.”

“Oh, nonsense. And just a moment.”

Maevaris pulled out a lyrium potion from a small pocket. She drank it quickly before using Force magic to put the carriage upright. 

“Your fireball mostly hit that idiot bandit in the face, and look. It’s only the left-hand corner that’s slightly singed. You’re not responsible for the door, at least, all of that can be replaced. Has been replaced.”

Anders frowned. “And this happens to you often?”

“I’m never going anywhere alone again, am I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Maevaris huffed. “It does and it doesn’t.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s not usually so simple a matter of a quick fight. Those men were amateurs,” Maevaris said with a shrug. “That’s why you might have felt a little unnecessary, but you were very, very handy to have around. Now, we just need to wait for Nicolae so… What can I do to keep you from asking more questions about the bandit ambushes I may have been a part of?”

“You can’t keep me from being concerned,” Anders insisted before sighing. “But if you plan on trying then… Well. Kissing is the only thing for it. And it might take several kisses, if I’m honest.”

Maevaris laughed, kissing him gently. “We can kiss as much as you’d like, and we’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, BakaKnight and TCRegan for looking this over. :)


	11. Chapter 11

*

The carriage made it to the next town over, but was in real need of repair. Nicolae had found a new team of horses for them, and enlisted the help of the local blacksmith to mend the damage caused by the bandits. And by a rather sheepish Anders.

She'd been assured that it would be ready sometime in the following afternoon. 

They walked to the inn, Anders carrying one of her valises under one arm after negotiating for her to hold his hand while he did so.

They passed the place several times for realizing it was an old stone building on the edge of the town. It looked a bit bleak and the windows were thin slits. It seemed like it might have been a gaol at some point in time. 

Inside, and after discussing the matter with the staff, Maevaris eyed her possible room with distaste.

"Largest one's available," the innkeeper said. He was a small, elderly fellow who had insisted on showing them up to the second floor in spite of how difficult the climb was for him. "Big enough for two. Though I can't imagine this is your honeymoon, Magister..."

"Tilani."

"Sounds... familiar." 

"It very well might," she said with forced cheer. 

Anders coughed to mask a laugh.

She had repeated her surname roughly a dozen times. At this point, there was no telling what the little man would put down in his guest ledger.

"We could take it,” Anders mused, looking at Maevaris. “That is, if you wouldn't mind."

"Wouldn’t you?"

"Hardly. I've shared rooms with Hawke. And in the Grey Wardens, this wasn't uncommon. Here I suppose it's a scandal in of itself?"

"It isn’t ideal," Maevaris quietly admitted, thinking less of her country and more in regards to herself.

"How about this,” Anders said, “you could just use the room on your own."

"And where will you sleep?"

"I can sleep at a table or I can sleep outside. The barn’s large enough."

"In a pile of horse hay?" Maevaris asked with a frown. "Oh, Anders. That's very far from proper."

Anders rolled his eyes. "I'm not sleeping in a room that barely has enough space for four turnips, three potatoes, and maybe half of a suitcase."

"A fair point. Only..."

Anders moved closer to her, lowering his voice. "I could understand if we weren't in the most backwater village I've ever seen outside of Ferelden, but we are. He can't even remember your name, and I think you ought to consider a different last name if he asks again."

“I ought to,” Maevaris admitted. 

“Can you manage then?”

"I imagine another mattress can be added to this suite of yours?" Anders asked, turning to the innkeeper. "Perhaps there’s some partition screens that an assistant of yours could haul up here?"

"I... suppose," the man said with a frown. "Highly irregular."

"Yes, well, it doesn't have to be," Anders said stiffly. "It could also be many other adjectives as well. At the moment, it is merely a practical course of action based on the miserable choices allotted to your unfortunate guests."

"Beg pardon?"

"Oh, for..." Anders scowled. "Ser, please listen carefully. I'm not sleeping in a room the size of a closet," he said slowly. "Neither is she."

Maevaris touched his arm, knowing it wasn't because of the room's size that Anders was concerned. Personally, she wasn't entirely certain how to feel about sharing a suite. The innkeeper was not wrong in noting it would be rather irregular, but honestly these rooms were dreadful. 

“Right then,” the innkeeper said. “I’ll get you… another bed, was it? Screens of some kind?”

“Both.”

The innkeeper rubbed his scalp and then headed for the stairs. “It’s the next landing up,” he said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

*

Anders followed her up the stairs.

They stood in front of the door in a rather awkward silence before Anders cleared his throat.

“We can share a room,” he said. “I won’t lie. I’m hoping we can share one again for better reasons, but we can certainly manage something bordering on platonic for one night. Despite mild evidence to the contrary, I can behave. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything.”

Maevaris frowned. “Oh, Anders, I don’t feel that way.” At least not in the way he thought.

Anders sighed. “You know, there was a time when I was actually quite brilliant at reassuring people.”

Maevaris smiled slightly. “It’s all right.”

Anders sighed. “I wish sentiment like that worked both ways. You seem to be able to make me feel better quite easily, and I’m not sure I can do that for you.”

The innkeeper’s assistant brought up screens easily enough. He fetched a stable hand when it came to carrying up their luggage. Together, they hauled another mattress up the narrow staircase. They set the mattress down gently, nodded, and then departed.

“I could leave,” Anders offered again.

“Maybe you could just fetch us something to eat,” Maevaris suggested, shrugging out of her purple jacket. “Something hot to drink as well.”

“All right.”

He was back relatively quickly with bowls of red curry and mugs of green tea. He set the tray down on a small table in the far corner of the room. Maevaris carried a chair over, and Anders did the same.

“Maybe we ought to talk,” Anders said after they’d been eating in silence for awhile. “We both enjoy talking.”

Maevaris smiled as she sipped her tea. “Should we talk about ourselves or some issue of great importance?”

He pushed his bowl aside and returned the smile. “Talk about yourself. Or I can.”

“And what would you tell me?”

“I suppose it could be about a daring escape.”

“Were you the only one who plotted such things?”

“No, although I was one of the more successful ones. Some of the others, the boys in particular, were foolish. They took too long or wanted to take too much with. Or sometimes it was simpler than that. They were in love, and couldn’t bear to leave the other person behind. And when you have something to lose, you get caught.”

“And the charges could be quite severe.”

“Worse than you can imagine.”

“So you’ve never… You must have been in love,” Maevaris said with a frown. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to be denied something so important and, really, so basic. 

Anders’ lips curved down. He looked away, debating something. “All right,” he said eventually. “I loved another mage in Kinloch Hold, and until they took him away, I never tried to leave. How could I? Love made us both happy which made us obvious. Careless. Reckless. Maybe I’d have gotten away but he might not have. And in the end…”

“You don’t have to,” Maevaris said quietly. Sentences beginning with ‘in the end’ did not, traditionally, result in a happy conclusion.

“I ought to.”

She reached over the table, putting her hand over his.

“It took a long time but eventually I found him. In Kirkwall. When I met Hawke, I asked for her help in saving him. But it was too late. They’d made him Tranquil because of me.”

Maevaris highly doubted Anders was responsible. If he was anything, he’d been an excuse. Having such a dangerous Rite available to them… Well, it was quite simple to imagine some terrible person would decide to use it whenever they pleased.

“I was able to restore him briefly. To his former self, I mean.”

“Oh, Anders.”

“Don’t,” he said quietly, but he let her keep a tight hold on his hand. “He asked me to kill him. And I killed him. You need to know that.”

“And you killed the templars,” Maevaris calmly stated.

Anders sighed heavily. “All those that were present, and many more besides while I lived in that wretched city.”

“Good.”

He glanced up at her, blinking a bit.

“What do you suppose I’ll do with this information?” she asked gently. “Should I be sad that they got the least of what they deserved? Anders, what they did was… There’s not an adequate word for it. Monstrous, I suppose. What you did was merciful.”

“But I killed him. I was the one who…”

“I will admit I don’t understand very much about Tranquility. However, I think it’s more that they killed him,” Maevaris said quietly. “Only they still had a use for him. And you couldn’t save him.”

“I can’t even tell you how many people I haven’t been able to save.”

“The same can be said for how many people you have,” she pointed out. “But that never balances itself out, Anders. Our successes seem catch up with our failures.”

“No, they do not.”

“If you are waiting for me to think less of you, it won’t happen. You did what little could be done for your… What was his name?”

“Karl. Thekla.”

“You did what you could for Karl. It wasn’t enough because of course it wasn’t. But I’m glad you managed some sort of revenge however meaningless it may have been.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” There was a moment of silence before she sighed, patting Anders’ hand and debating what to say. “My husband, Thorold… He died in an accident. A very, very small accident in Minrathous. He fell, or so they told me. The rumors were varied. Some people suggested that I did it. Some people suggested it was my fault if only because I deserved any manner of wicked thing for drawing so much attention to myself.”

“People honestly said that to you?”

“And worse,” Maevaris admitted. “I’m a young, female Magister. No one really wants too many of those about the place.”

“Just the old men with the creepy fetishes,” Anders wryly muttered.

She chuckled. “Something like that. I haven’t gotten where I am through noble deeds, sweet words or catering to the interests of elderly men. I got here by doing whatever had to be done to preserve a reputation as a formidable opponent. So I cashed in a few favors, allowed myself to owe a few debts. There was no limit to the amount of coin or influence I spent to have whoever spoke ill about him killed. All those suspected in causing his accident were deposed of in a similar fashion. Oh, I suffered the occasional fool, including one who tried courting me during the mourning period, but that was all I put up with.”

“I see.”

“I don’t have much in the way of enemies now. I suppose I should be proud of that. Thorold would have been. He’d have approved of it all,” she said with a sad, fond smile. “He could be so delightfully ruthless, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t give up everything including my title to have kept him from harm.”

Anders just squeezed her hand.

“In the end,” and there was that dreaded phrase, “all I could do was all you could do for Karl. Avenge him. Show them exactly what happens when you mess with… well, a mage.”

“I wish we’d had a life together,” Anders said quietly. “Karl and I. I wish I had something more like the memories you have of your husband.”

“It’s never enough, but I understand. I wish you’d had that too. But he loved you, you loved him, and you’ll be loved again. Differently, of course, but you’ll be loved.”

“Can you promise that?” Anders asked, looking down at the table. “Please? Even if it’s not likely to ever be true…I wish you would.”

Maevaris got to her feet, letting go of Anders’ hand and circling around the table. “I promise. Of course I can,” she said, setting her hands on his shoulders, “and only because it is the truth.” She leaned over, kissing his cheek. “You’ll be loved because you deserve to be.”

“By you?

“Move your chair back, dear.”

Without getting up. Anders lightly moved his chair further away from the table.

Maevaris stroked his cheek briefly then moved so she could sit in his lap. That was better. This way she could see his face, and put her arms around him. It had the added benefit of allowing him to put his arms around her.

“Loved by me and other people as well,” she said, kissing him again. “Only not too many other people. I’m not one for sharing.”

Anders chuckled briefly. “I don’t imagine that will be a problem.”

She glanced up at him thoughtfully. “Then…”

“Then?”

“I’m not sure I ought to continue. This is a rather inelegant question.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

Maevaris smiled. “All right. Then you don’t have a preference?”

“Between?”

“Men and women.”

“Yes and no. Would that be a problem?”

“Not for me,” Maevaris said. “It might be amongst mixed company. In Tevinter, some men prefer men and some women prefer women, but they are to do so discretely. Understandings are reached and scandals are a regular occurrence, but most people keep such preferences to themselves.”

“Well, since you’re not polite society,” Anders said, “I have preferences in terms of personality more than anything else. I’ve always believed people fall in love with the whole person, not just the body.”

There were so many things that she was aching to say, but instead she kissed his lips, tugging him closer to her.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the usual suspects for looking this over. Last month got a bit crazy on me. Hopefully this month will be kinder. I would certainly love to update more often.
> 
> Some of this chapter was influenced by World of Thedas Part 2, but for the most part I was planning a chapter like this since I felt it was important for both Anders and Mae to discuss past relationships. Karl always seemed fairly important to me, and Thorold obviously means a lot of Maevaris still. It was helpful, however, to know more about the circumstances surrounding his death.
> 
> As for other details of Mae's life such as her father and the age at which she was able to be herself, I feel it works better to continue with what I've already established in earlier chapters. It just suits the story, and really isn't that much of a stretch in my opinion.


	12. Chapter 12

*

The night managed to be rather uneventful. They separated to prepare for bed, and then ended up taking the screens down.

When they lay down on their separate beds, but Maevaris moved to the edge of hers so Anders could finger strands of her hair and then brush his long fingers over her cheek.

At some point and in the early morning, she woke up to soft but distressed sounds. She brushed her fingers over Anders’ arm until he stilled.

And she made no mention of it once later on when Anders brought breakfast up to her. It was simple fare, nothing too fancy but filling for the time being. They would find another city closer to Minrathous for lunch. Assuming they could leave.

“See?” Anders said, having a bit of toast, “I was a perfect gentleman. Mostly.”

“You were entirely perfect,” Maevaris agreed. “Although you could do with a shave.”

“We can’t all wake up looking at good as you do. How does that work anyway?”

Maevaris laughed, running a hand through her hair. “Oh, years of practice, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to go to any trouble for it though. Magic, I mean.”

“No.” Which was entirely true in this case. She took some effort in the evening to ensure she woke up without looking rather horrid or mussed, but nothing too excessive.

“Good. You’d hardly need to. You’re lovely.”

“I do my best.”

Generally speaking, her best did the trick. She didn’t need to be perfect or, rather, it wasn’t something she required of herself. It was, however, necessary and required of her in the capital and the senate. Flaws were excusable at times like this with someone who liked her either in spite of or because of them.

“As much as I enjoy speaking and admiring you,” Anders said, “I did have a question. About you. And Minrathous.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. We will see the golems.”

Anders chuckled. “You really do spend a lot of time around your students.”

“That and I brought Dorian along once when he was twelve.” And having a difficult time of it what with his father out of the country on business and his mother holed up somewhere. “I thought I might try my hand at being an adopted aunt. And little boys are very excited about golems and dragons and… anything large and monstrous, really.”

“I’m sure you had a good time.”

“Somewhat. Even then he read everything you could find on Tevinter. I swear there is nothing worse than a small child knowing more than you do about famous historical sites.”

Anders grinned. “You really have known him for ages then.”

“I really have.”

“At any rate, my question was more in regards to your itinerary.”

“Oh?”

“What’s the likelihood of my being able to follow you around a significant portion of the time?”

“I would prefer you walked alongside me and didn’t traipse after me. You don’t have to be my shadow.”

“It might be best if I was. As you’ve pointed out, I have no status here.”

“You following behind me like a lost lamb isn’t going to do much for mine. You can walk beside me, and if people don’t like it… I’ll handle them. I’ll have to ask you not to accompany me to the Senate proper. You can certainly visit or wait in my office, but you’re not a member of the Magisterium.”

“You don’t have to spend too much time there?”

“Not particularly. We’ll be traveling a bit as well. There’s the party in Vyrantium. And I suspect I’ll be invited to Vol Dorma. I haven’t seen Lysander’s family in a while.”

“You really ought to decline invitations.”

“Hm. I’d consider it provided I had a better offer.”

Anders smirked then shook his head.

“What?”

“Just considering what Hawke would say. The sort of party she’d invite you to.”

“One chock full of innuendo?”

“Possibly.”

Maevaris decided to change the subject before Anders could dwell for too long or hard on what else Hawke might say were she present. “Any other questions?”

“Not yet.”

“Then my only other bit of advice is to be suitably impressed. There is nothing people like better than an outsider admiring their lives.”

Anders chuckled. “All things considered, I’m not sure I could fail to marvel at each and every part of your Imperium.”

“It’s hardly mine.”

“To me it is.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t fault you for that.”

*

Their ride the rest of the way was far less remarkable than the start of their journey had proven to be. In fact, they only stopped briefly for a meal before riding into the city and to her home.

“Yes, but why a rickety bridge?” Anders asked as he helped her down from the carriage.

“It was not at all rickety.”

“Still, I wouldn’t care to use it all that often. And those golems were… I’m not sure I liked them. Those symbols on them… Those were all over Kirkwall,” Anders said.

“Servani,” Maevaris murmured. “Or Andoral.”

“God of slaves?”

“I’m afraid so.” Maevaris shook her head. “It’s thoroughly embarrassing. As for the particular bridge, it’s constantly being burned and replaced. Minrathous is an island, and generally speaking, we’re at war with the Qunari.”

“I did notice all the shipyards off… that way.”

“And there’s underground catacombs. My people are very thorough in terms of our preparations.”

Anders smirked. “Is that so?”

Maevaris rolled her eyes, moving away from him.

“Should I tend to my luggage?”

“No, the servants will.” Speaking of which, Maevaris looked up just as Nicolai hopped down from the front of her coach. “Oh, don’t,” she said as he reached up for one of her many valises. “Nicolai, please tend to the horses and then rest up. I’ll have others can gather up our belongings. I don’t want you to help.”

The elf nodded somewhat uncertainly. He was still ill at ease. “I could though.”

“Of course you could,” she said gently. “It is only that I would prefer you not to. We’ve had quite an experience getting here, but everything’s fine. So just eat something and take the night off.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Eager servants greeted her, most of whom she had not seen in months. They were older, responsible men and women who could relied upon to run the household properly regardless of whether she was present or not.

She offered up polite orders after they’d taken the black velvet cloak she’d been wearing. Underneath it she was wearing a wine red gown with one strap over her right shoulder. The bodice was embroidered with twining gold dragons.

After Anders had hung up his coat, they moved into the parlor. The furnishings were similar to her husband’s study. Dark wood furniture with ornate silver embellishments, Serault glass windows tinted a light blue, and far too many bookshelves.

Maevaris sat at her desk, sifting through the mail she’d been handed. It was primarily invitations to smaller gatherings. Many that she could reject, but she imagined it would be rather nice to show Anders off. And it seemed likely that attending social functions with less people might be the best way to prepare him for larger soirees.

“So these quarters are in some way smaller than those in Qarinus,” Anders mused. “I’m not seeing it.”

“There’s the parlor, two bedrooms, the kitchens, a living room, and a dining room. It’s very cozy.”

“Right. Entirely intimate.”

Maevaris laughed as he circled around the desk to her. “I’m sorry we’re not in a rickety shack next to the rickety bridge,” she said as he sat down on the edge of it.

“As well you should be. Let’s just go back to that terrible inn and you can commute.”  
“You’ll be able to find me.”

“Promise?”

Maevaris set the invitations down and gently stroked his cheek. “I do promise, and you ought to get used to having more space. You’ve been cooped up for too long, Anders. In more ways than one.”

“It’s just that… I liked waking up this morning. With you there.”

“I did too. And you’ll have that again.”

“Not tonight.”

“I… Well…”

“The servants. I understand.” Anders leaned down and kissed her. “I’ll get used to the space as long as I’m sharing it with you.”

“No. I mean, it’s not the servants,” Maevaris said with a small sigh. She kissed him before looking down at the desk. “There’s…”

“You could tell me.”

“I could.”

As Anders ran his fingers through her hair, Maevaris considered her options, and found she didn’t like the thought of dragging her feet over much. In all honesty, the reactions she’d gotten from Thorold, Dorian, Varric, and a few others had been positive. Anders had told her just the other night that he didn’t love parts of a person but the whole they contributed to. So she could trust him or continue to keep her secret.

Anders was watching her, but he seemed to merely be admiring the view. His brow arched when she finally met his gaze. Even then he was simply curious. If she didn’t tell him, he’d leave it at that.

“All right,” she said, smoothing down the lapel of his tunic. She pulled him towards her, hugging him gently. “All right. Only… not here?”

Anders ran his hands over her back. “Only if you wish to. And where ever you would like.”

“I do wish to.” And yet she was still anxious at the prospect. Maevaris brushed her hands along the edge of her dress and rose to her feet. “This way.” 

*

When they exited the parlor, Maevaris headed down a wide hall to the first of the two bedrooms available. Her bedroom in Minrathous was as large as the one she had in Qarinus, and quite similar in terms of its decor. Several items were missing, of course. The vanity and wardrobe were different. Smaller in the case of the vanity. Emptier in regards to her closet.

She sat down on a black couch and Anders sat down on the low table in front of it. His knees were touching hers, and he took her hands in his. Instead of saying anything immediately, he slowly warmed up her fingers before lightly drawing her hands up, kissing each digit.

“Maevaris,” he said, after letting their hands gently fall back down to rest in his lap. “All I really want is to know is that you’re all right. That you’re not dying or anything like that.”

She blinked as he kept talking, more than a little stunned. Maker, how had her silence resulted in this sort of assumption?

“Even if you are? Even if that’s what you’re so afraid to tell me…That won’t change anything. I’m a healer and I’ll find a cure. You’re… I care about you, and I won’t lose you. It won’t happen.”

“Oh no,” she found herself saying.

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Is that not what you’d like for me to do?”

“If I was dying, I should be overjoyed,” Maevaris said with a small, rueful smile. “However... It’s nothing like that, Anders. I’m not dying. I’m not even remotely ill.”

“You’re not.”

“Entirely healthy and hale. A balanced diet and regular exercise do wonders, you see.”

“Then…” Anders frowned. “I’m rather confused. You’re not dying?”

“No.”

“Then what could possibly... No, I'd rather not continue to speculate. If you're still willing, you ought to tell me what is going on.”

“I will, and I do hope you haven't been concerned for very long.”

“Only the last few days," Anders assured her. "I suppose it was a bit of an extreme notion, but I’ve been anything but lucky in lo—Life. Well, and love too. In every way possible, and you’re… I won’t lose you. I mean that. I won’t.”

“You won’t,” Maevaris echoed, squeezing his hands, which were still wrapped around hers. “That is, I don’t want to lose you either.”

She sighed heavily, not looking down but looking away. She worried at her lip and then she sternly reminded herself of exactly who she was. An Altus. A Magister. A widow. A powerful woman. She wasn’t some young girl who needed approval or validation. She was going to be the same strong, stubborn, remarkable person she’d always been regardless of what anyone else thought. She just hoped Anders wouldn’t change his mind about her.

“When I was born, my father decided I would be Marcus Tilani. That was his father’s name, and he’d always admired the man. He wished for me to be as successful for I was to be an only child. An heir to a House that seemed destined for oblivion. My father was so proud. My parents felt so fortunate. But I was never that boy. That was never my name.”

She hadn’t meant to get so very emotional or at least not visibly upset, but of course she had. But then it wasn’t as if she minded Anders wiping at her cheek. His expression was gentle and so far he didn’t seem upset, not even slightly.

“I tried, I really did… But I couldn’t be Marcus. I was so unhappy, and I just wanted to be… I wanted to be myself. I wanted to be a little girl. To wear dresses and putter around gardens and tame dragons and all of the things little girls do.”

“He accepted you,” Anders said.

“He did. He loved me, and he watched me become quiet and sullen. I was young. Too young to feel that way. So he took me to the gardens and said we needed to talk. I was… Well, I was terrified. But instead of yelling, he knelt in front of me and told me he was more sorry than words could express. That he’d failed and hurt me because he hadn’t understood. And then he said ‘I know now that there was only been one Marcus Tilani. You’re Maevaris and you’re my daughter and… I love you.’

“He told me it would be hard to be myself, hard to amount to as much as I would want to. Some people wouldn’t understand, but it wasn’t impossible to still be a powerful mage and a magister besides. To get there though, I would have to be the best. I would have to be strong, ruthless... A force to be reckoned with. So… That was that. I got the right name. Became the right person. And… here we are. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Anders wiped at her face again. “I’m not sure it requires much more of an explanation.”

“Doesn’t it?" 

"Why would it?"

"Because I kept it from you. Only... Anders, I need you to know. I didn’t lie to you. I really--”

“Stop," Anders insisted. "Of course you didn’t. Of course I know that.”

“All right. But if there’s anything else...”

Anders shook his head as her sentence trailed off. “You’ll have to tell me what you want and what you don’t want when we’re more intimate. Beyond that, I don’t think there’s anything else I need from you. Well, besides you, of course.” "Me?" "You. Just as you are." He leaned in and kissed her again.

Maevaris returned it a bit fiercely, but Anders didn’t seem to mind.

“From the moment I saw you,” Anders said once the kiss ended, “I liked you because of who you are. You all but shone with self-confidence, kindness, and a sense of calm that… That I missed, really. It is so hard to find someone you can really connect to who wants the same thing. There are so many rules and restrictions and I wanted so badly to be near you. To understand how someone like you could exist in such a shitty world when I’d all but given up on it.”

“There’s no need for that. The world’s not such a bad place at times.”

“Parts of it are and all of the time,” Anders assured her. “So for me it’s refreshing not to mention important to be around a woman and a mage who has found so much to love about herself. Especially a beautiful one who… really isn’t dying?”

Maevaris sniffled even as she chuckled. “Now you’re just trying to make me smile.”

“It’s working. At least I hope it is.”

“It is, and I’m not at all dying.”

“Good," Anders said, kissing her cheek. "Your father was… Well, I suppose he was like you in that he was rather remarkable. I wish I’d had a father like that.”

“I suppose most people do.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Anders said, tugging her into his arms. “You are truthfully the bravest woman I’ve met in a very long time. I've felt that way for awhile now, and all this information does is confirm it. I wish telling me hadn’t made you so upset because honestly… All it does is make me care for you more. If that’s even possible.”

“Considering your little speech, I have my doubts," she wryly admitted. And yet all the same... "You really don’t mind?”

Anders gave her a mild and slightly pitying glare. “Maevaris Tilani, don’t you dare ask me if I mind,” he insisted. “Because I’ll leave. The room, I mean. For a bit. Not for long.”

Maevaris smiled. “Very well. I won’t ask.”

“Good. Now I’m going to assume your desire to tell me all of this is the only reason why we haven’t been able to spend the night together. At least that’s my hope.”

“I… Well, that was a deciding factor. Only even without that, it would hardly be proper,” she pointed out before lowering her tone. “We’re not married.”

Anders snorted.

“We aren’t.”

“If I have to deal with you not caring it we have to live in a giant’s manor house at all times? You will have to deal with me not giving a toss about what is proper or not.”

“Very well, but there’s… still some matters to negotiate.”

“Matters left to negotiate? I think we’re well past that, don’t you? I’m not about to propose just yet and I realize we're still in the early stages of courting. But I’m yours already so you hardly need me to.”

“Well…”

“Oh, honestly, Maevaris. If your only a concern about our sleeping arrangements has to do with what the servants will think? Then regardless of whether you decide to do anything with me or not, I am sleeping next to you tonight. _And_ I am waking up to you tomorrow morning. Propriety be damned.”

Maevarus laughed, brushing back a stray lock of Anders’ hair. She kissed his cheek then his forehead. Then she embraced him again as she silently thanked him. She had a feeling he wouldn’t want her to do so out loud. Not if she was going to be grateful for his reaction or what he’d said.

“So we’re in agreement?” Anders asked her as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “We certainly seem to be.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who looked over this chapter for me! 
> 
> Sorry this update was so very delayed. I was determined first and foremost to finish Share Your Silence this month. Then I kept losing the thumb drive that the first half was on.


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